


Regina (or the Evil Step-mother)

by amycarey



Series: The one where they all live in a Regency Romance [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycarey/pseuds/amycarey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina, Marchioness of White, widely renowned as the most elegant woman in England, is in London helping her step-daughter through her first Season. Miss Emma Swan is pretending to be an heiress to seduce and destroy Sir Killian Jones, dandy, on behest of the wealthy Mr Gold. </p><p>Featuring at least one elopement, a duel, a pistol, several balls and a great deal of romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the scene is set in a drawing room

Mrs Eugenia Lucas, of a certain age, prided herself in two things. The first was her incredible health. The second was her granddaughter’s beauty. Although her darling Ruby was as beautiful as ever, Mrs Lucas suspected she might expire from the heavy breaths she was taking on the doorstep of the Blanchard townhouse, having had to practically run after Ruby down the busy streets of London. The girl was far too eager to see her best friend after a whole winter apart and was using her long legs to some considerable advantage.

 

Ruby rang the bell and the butler answered. Eugenia handed her card over to him. “Lady White is at home,” he said and escorted them in. Eugenia followed her granddaughter and a rather handsome footman into a drawing room, elegantly furnished in blue velvet with gold accents. Eugenia admired the floral wallpaper; it was obviously new and she wondered if it would suit in her own home. A high pitched squeal emanated from her granddaughter and she flung herself at the young girl seated at the window; they hugged and danced around the drawing room so energetically Eugenia feared they might knock over a lamp.

 

“Do remember that you are a lady, dear,” came a low, melodious voice from behind Eugenia. Mary Margaret Blanchard stiffened immediately and folded her hands demurely in front of her. “Cecil, we will have tea.” The footman bowed and left. “Eugenia, do take a seat.”

 

Regina, the Marchioness of White, was widely known as the most stylish woman in England. Since the death of her husband (a contemporary of Eugenia’s and so much older than his second wife) four years ago, she had spent her summers in London, being seen at Almacks, the theatre, the lesser assembly halls, along with every other fashionable place in town, and updating her wardrobe at Madame de la Rue’s – now the most popular dressmaker in London. Many copied her manner of dress and many a young girl bemoaned the marchioness’s love of dark colours, utterly unsuitable for a girl only just come out. Today, she wore a black silk dress, lace adorning the sleeves and just barely covering her small but impressively pert bosom.

 

The two younger girls sat at the window seat talking and giggling together, while Lady White reclined against a chaise lounge; Eugenia caught a glimpse of cream silk boots, buttoned at the sides with pearls. “Those are very cunning boots, Lady White,” Eugenia said.

 

“Thank you,” she said, not bothering to affect modesty. “Eugenia, it has been too long. How has London been this winter?”

 

“Miserable,” she replied. “Grey and cold and no gossip to speak of. I have my hopes of Ruby making a match this season, if she can just curb that tendency of hers to flirt outrageously with the most inappropriate of men.”

 

“She’s a beautiful girl. I am sure she will have no trouble finding a suitable husband. The marriage market is always ready for a beautiful, young innocent.” She spoke with some degree of bitterness and Eugenia remembered the wedding, eight years ago. Regina had been radiant in white silk and lace but wearing an expression of great melancholy, and Leopold’s grizzled grey hair and protruding gut showed his age.

 

“Mary Margaret must be looking forward to her first Season,” Eugenia said. “She has grown into quite a beauty herself, with that dark hair and pale skin. She looks so much like her dear mother.”

 

“So I have been told,” Regina said, though her smile hardened and her warm brown eyes sharpened. Eugenia had often wondered what Regina had against her step-daughter but Regina remained tight-lipped on the subject. “I intend for her to marry very well.”

 

Tea was brought into the drawing room and the two girls left the window seat for tea and lemon cakes, though they continued to whisper to each other, heads bowed close together. “You will have heard, of course, that Sir Killian Jones is in town?”

 

“That … fop,” Regina said, scoffing. There was a piercing giggle from one of the girls.

 

“I think we call him a dandy, dear, and that dandy is now the sole inheritor of his parent’s considerable estate,” Eugenia said. “His brother died at the blockade in Cadiz.”

 

“I heard,” Regina said. “I am sorry for it. Liam was an honourable man. I’m sorry I cannot say the same for his younger brother. I certainly do not want Mary Margaret marrying someone so frivolous, no matter how wealthy.”

 

“I can’t say I’m over fond of the boy myself,” Eugenia said. “I don’t trust those collars. So starched they could cut your face. I don’t think you need fear for Mary Margaret though. There’s already stiff competition for him. Gold’s ward is making a play for him, for a start.”

 

“Gold has a ward? My, I have been out of touch.”

 

“Mmm. She’s new in London apparently. I’ve not seen the girl myself but she has eighty thousand to her name and by all accounts is very pretty – though not in her first bloom of youth.”

 

Regina sniffed. “She must be an idiot to go after that foolish whelp.”

 

Eugenia chuckled to herself. Regina was not yet thirty but sometimes acted like an ancient dowager. She would like to see Regina fall hopelessly in love this season, to lose the cold indifference she wore as a mask. She had privately hoped it might happen with Locksley two Seasons prior, but the brief flirtation fizzled and, on the whole, Locksley was better off with his Marian.

 

“And how is young Henry?” Eugenia asked.

 

Regina’s cold smile softened at the name. “He’s just turned six,” she said. “He is just perfect.” Henry was Regina’s ward, abandoned on the steps of the townhouse six years ago. Eugenia sometimes felt that Henry had saved Regina’s life, though the ton would, of course, suggest that it was Regina who saved Henry.

 

“Would he like to see his Granny?” Eugenia asked. Regina nodded and gestured to a footman and just a short time later a young boy ran into the drawing room.

 

“Mama,” he cried, running full tilt at his mother and burying his face in her lap, little fists clenching the dark fabric. If anyone else had dared treat one of Lady White’s gowns so roughly, she would certainly have delivered one of her infamous setdowns. However, with Henry she simply gently prised his hands off the fabric and pulled him onto her lap.

 

“Good afternoon, my darling boy,” she murmured. “You Granny has come to see you.”

 

Eugenia Lucas was not actually Henry’s grandmother but in lieu of any other grandparents she made a decent enough stand in. “Good day, Henry,” she said. “How are you?”

 

“’m very well thank you,” he said. “Mama said we could go to the museum one day soon and see the marbles.”

 

“I fear he will be disappointed,” Regina said, over his head. “He’s expecting a giant game of marbles, not the Elgin Marbles.”

 

Eugenia laughed. She and Ruby had been to see the Elgin Marbles when they were first displayed. Though she could admit they were spectacular, relics of ancient Greece were not something that interested her. Regina was educated though; she would certainly appreciate them. Finishing her tea and giving Henry a cuddle, she stood. “Ruby, we must go.” Her granddaughter reluctantly hugged her friend and stood, brushing at the folds of her muslin gown. “Regina, we will see you at the Locksley ball?”

 

“It will be Mary Margaret’s first of the Season," Regina said, rising herself. “Until then, Eugenia. Mary Margaret, see our company to the door and then change so that we can visit the dressmaker.” As always, her voice hardened when she spoke to her step-daughter and Eugenia, not for the first time, pitied the girl, who obviously loved her step-mother dearly.

 

“Yes, step-mama,” Mary Margaret said and escorted the Lucases from the room.

 

*

 

Regina sighed as she watched Mrs Lucas and her granddaughter leave through the sheer curtains at the drawing room windows. She had missed Eugenia; her gossip, no nonsense attitude and the unconditional affection she showed towards Regina, one of very few people in Regina’s life who did show her any affection.

 

“Mama,” Henry said. “Will we see Granny an’ Ruby again?” He tucked a hand into hers and she felt the tug at her heart. She wished she were back in Derbyshire already, at the small estate she had had Leopold purchase for her when it looked like he was not going to live out the year, his own title and lands entailed away to a young cousin. There had been whole days in Derbyshire where she had done nothing but read to Henry and play him tunes on the pianoforte and teach him how to ride on the pony she’d purchased him that year.

 

But in town there was too much to do and these brief snatches of time were all she got with the boy she considered her son, despite the lack of blood connection. She cuddled Henry close to her on the window seat. “What have you been learning today?” she asked.

 

“Miss Boyd told me a fairy story,” Henry said.

 

“Oh? Can you tell it to me?” She had never been particularly fond of fairy tales. Stories of true love and happy ever afters seemed unforgivingly naïve.

 

“You already know it, Mama,” he said.

 

“Oh, but I know very few fairy stories. I am woefully uneducated,” she said, smiling.

 

“Okay,” he said, turning to face her, his stout legs wrapping around her waist, and meeting her eyes. “Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess called Snow White.” Regina endeavoured not to wince. The story had been a favourite of Mary Margaret’s in her youth and Regina had been told it a thousand times.

 

“And what happens to Snow White?” Regina asked.

 

“Her evil step-mother sends her into the forest with a huntsman and he’s supposed to cut out her heart with a big knife.” Henry mimed the knife and Regina became very aware of the fact that this was Henry’s favourite part of the story. “But Snow White was so pretty an’ ninnocent–“

 

“Innocent, dear,” Regina interjected.

 

“Inn-o-cent,” Henry repeated. “He had to let her go and instead he cut out the heart of a deer and brought it all dripping with blood back to her step-mother.” He paused. “What does a heart look like, Mama?”

 

“You will have to ask Miss Boyd,” Regina said.

 

“I will,” Henry said and Regina knew she’d be dealing with an outraged Miss Boyd tomorrow. “So Snow White gets lost inna forest and is rescued by some dwarves.”

 

“How many?”

 

“Seven.” He held up seven fingers. Regina could see he was tiring of the story, his attention drifting out the window. “Anyway, the evil step-mother finds out that Snow White’s still alive because she asks her magic mirror and so she tries three times to kill her. She dresses up as an old witch and gives her a poisoned comb and some laces for her corset that she tightens too much but the dwarves save her both times. So then she gives her a poisoned apple and Snow White dies.”

 

“Oh no,” Regina gasped in mock horror.

 

“It’s not over yet, Mama,” Henry said sternly. “The prince comes along on his horse and sees Snow White in her coffin and kisses her and it breaks the curse.”

 

It was an abbreviated version of the original tale and Regina suspected Miss Boyd had embroidered her own details into it. She seemed to recall lungs and liver being the organs the evil stepmother requested, not a heart. “What happened to Snow White’s step-mother?” she asked.

 

“Oh, she died,” Henry said with some satisfaction. “Can’t remember how. Don’t think Miss Boyd told me. She said we had to get on with some arithmetic. I hate arithmetic.”

 

And isn’t that always the way, Regina thought. The step-mothers and villains are forgotten but the simpering, naïve, love-struck imbeciles live on forever in our minds. She hugged Henry. “Perhaps she atoned and spent a happy life as far away from Snow White as possible,” she said.

 

Henry shook his head. “No, she died because she was evil, Mama.” He poked Regina’s lips until she smiled. “Can we play a game?”

 

Regina looked up and saw Mary Margaret standing in the doorway, eyeing the tableau they created with something akin to envy. Regina stifled the glare building up in her at the sight of her step-daughter. “Yes dear?”

 

“The carriage has been brought around,” Mary Margaret said. “We have an appointment at the dressmaker’s.”

 

“Of course. Henry, darling, run back up to the nursery and to Miss Boyd.”

 

“I can’t come with you?” He pouted, plump lower lip jutting out.

 

Regina held back a laugh. “You would find it dreadfully dull, my precious boy.” She stood, easing Henry off her lap and brushed down her skirts, ensuring the fabric was not creased. She had a reputation to uphold after all. “Mary Margaret, go out to carriage. I will be with you momentarily.” Mary Margaret turned on her heel. “Do not forget your bonnet, dear.”

 

Her lady’s maid had set out a scarlet spencer and the cunning little capote she’d bought on her first day back in London, black silk to match her gown. She dressed quickly and tripped out the door and down the steps, colliding with someone striding past. Regina was very nearly knocked to the ground and the woman caught her, holding her steady, her arms strong and her fingers digging into the flesh of Regina’s waist.

 

“Do you mind?” Regina snapped, prising herself away from the woman and stepping back.

 

“Not at all,” the young woman said cheerily. Regina took a long look at her. She had unruly golden curls, escaping from beneath her bonnet, an impish smile, too broad, but with a good set of teeth. Her eyes, fringed with long lashes, were a disarming shade of hazel. Her attire was nothing to speak of; serviceable striped muslin and a rather ordinary bonnet. Regina would not have called her pretty exactly; but she was handsome and rather striking.

 

Regina looked down her nose at the woman from her position two steps up; the girl was still grinning in what was becoming an altogether alarming fashion. “Perhaps, dear,” she said, drawing on her ‘Marchioness’ voice to the fullest extent. “You should endeavour not to run in such a helter-skelter fashion.”

 

“Perhaps, dear,” the woman replied, “you should look where you are going when you leave the house. I was _not_ running.”

 

Mary Margaret poked her head out of the carriage window. “Are we leaving, Step-mama?”

 

The woman raised her eyebrows and laughed. Regina glared. “Something amusing, dear?”

 

“I’m just surprised that someone as young and beautiful as you could be a step-mother to a grown up daughter.”

 

For a moment, Regina was lost for words. She glared at the girl, the glare that could send Mary Margaret trembling out of the room, but the insolent woman simply stared back and continued to smile. Regina began to suspect she might be addled. She brushed past her and stepped into the carriage, shifting her skirts before she sat so as not to crumple them.

 

“Who was that?” Mary Margaret asked.

 

“No one of any consequence, dear,” Regina said, though she found that as they drove off towards the dressmaker that those hazel eyes kept swimming through her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have clearly read too many Regency novels.
> 
> I have done a fair amount of reading - though obviously there will be mistakes in the history. Apologies in advance for any of those - or pretend that they are deliberate (particularly in the way characters address each other - I can't be having with this Lady Blanchard/White business so Regina it is).  
> Also, I have always wanted to write something where the whole plot is laid out in the first chapter in a drawing room.
> 
> I hope to be able to update regularly though this is taking more time to write than my usual stories.
> 
> Title inspired by 'Sylvester, or the Wicked Uncle' by Georgette Heyer.


	2. In which secrets are overheard in an assembly hall

Miss Emma Swan, not yet four and twenty, rubbed at a blotch of dirt on her gloves as she entered Gold’s palatial townhouse. Gold would be furious if he knew she had ruined _another_ pair of gloves and she hoped if she washed them quickly enough the dirt would disappear. The man was rich as Croesus (there would be a certain irony if a man named Gold was poor, she considered) and such a miser with his wealth.

 

She stormed into the bedroom Gold had set aside for her, a room that did not feel like hers even after all these months, peeling off the kid gloves and dabbing at the dirt with a damp cloth. That damn woman! There was a knock at her door and Isabelle French – or Belle, as she had asked Emma to call her – entered. Spotting the gloves drying on her window sill, she sighed. “Oh, Emma. Not again.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault this time, I swear,” Emma said, aware that her voice had taken on a whining quality. “There was this woman…”

 

“I have had to mend more clothes for you these past three months than in all my years working for Gold.” Belle French was on Gold’s staff, ostensibly his housekeeper though Emma privately suspected Gold would like her to be something more than that. At present, she was charged with keeping Emma in line and helping her with her etiquette and attire so that Gold’s plans for Sir Killian Jones could be put into action without Emma ruining it all by behaving like the street rat he undoubtedly thought she still was.

 

Belle was kind though, unlike the matrons of the Christian charity school in the north of England where she had spent much of her life. Emma’s parents had cared enough to drop her on the steps of an orphanage with enough money in a trust of some sort to send her to school. She had been fifteen when she had run away to London, with an upper-class accent, a hatred of cold porridge and most of the skills required to become a governess.

 

“Mr Gold wants me to remind you of proper behaviour at a ball at someone’s home,” Belle said, sitting down beside her on the bed and pulling the pins from her hair.

 

“Of course he does,” Emma said. She would have thought he would be pleased Sir Killian had noticed her at all. He was hardly easy to get to, crowds of people constantly surrounding him, and he had half the ton’s eligible young women eyeing him up – many of them prettier and more delicate than Emma. But nothing she did was ever good enough for Gold.

 

“It will be your first ball of the Season and Locksley’s home is a something quite spectacular. You should not take this lightly.” Belle grabbed a brush and began brushing out Emma’s curls. “I will be there, of course, as your chaperone.” Belle had been playing at being Emma’s widowed aunt when they went out in public. “But you need to know exactly how to behave.”

 

“I remember,” Emma said, sighing. “You’ve only been over it a thousand times.” It had been like being back at school. She had had dancing lessons, lessons in conversation – mostly reminding her of what was and was not an appropriate topic – and the typical schedule of an evening.

 

“Watch your choice of language,” Belle said, tugging at a knot in her curls sharply. Emma winced, somewhat chastened. “You need to remain formal at all times or you are sure to slip.”

 

“I know how to dance. I know how to flirt. I am not some impressionable seventeen year old innocent,” Emma said. “I will get the job done.”

 

“I know, dear,” Belle said. “I do wonder…”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” Belle’s dark eyes were wide and her lips turned down at the corners, lines forming around her mouth. She sighed and divided Emma’s hair into three parts, plaiting them loosely. “Pass me that ribbon,” she said and Emma complied.

 

“Now,” she said, tying the bow tight. “There is a concert tonight. Sir Killian Jones is expected to be there.” She stood and began to rifle through Emma’s wardrobe. “Have you worn the peach muslin in his company before?” Emma shrugged. “Useless girl,” Belle said, though her smile was fond. “This would be a good time to keep up with your reading.”

 

Emma scowled. Would she ever live a life where someone wasn’t telling her what to do or trying to ‘improve’ her? She picked up her book – a collection of Cowper’s poetry – and continued where she had left off the previous day, while Belle busied herself around the room, setting out Emma’s clothes for the evening. As she read, her mind wandered back to the woman. She didn’t even know her name.

 

*

 

A week later, she stood in the grand stairway leading into Locksley’s ballroom, trying not to make a fool of herself as she stared in wonder at the splendour. The high ceilings were painted eggshell blue with gold filigree and home to several glistening chandeliers. The light they emitted was really rather astonishing. Red velvet curtains were pulled aside to show high windows and the room was a press of bodies, Locksley obviously not discriminating in who he invited. She had been told that Locksley’s home was impressive, but she had never seen such grandeur before, even in Gold’s house. She pulled her cream silk gloves up her arms and touched her hair, the feathers of her headdress still in place.

 

Gold came up behind her, gold-tipped cane in one hand and with Belle close behind him. “Shall we, dearie?” Emma had trained herself not to cringe away from his touch. “Remember, you are to search out Jones as soon as possible. He will likely be late.” He glanced at her gown, brow furrowed. “That colour is … loud.” Emma had decided she was too old for white and the lightest pastel shades. Her gown was rich cobalt, cut low at her breasts and with the most minimal sleeves her modiste would allow, in gold fabric. Now, though, she was having second thoughts. The muted colours of what seemed like thousands of people in the crowded ballroom made her stand out – and not in a way she would like. It was entirely possible Jones would not approve. She may have had him pegged incorrectly. Perhaps the insipid girls in white and pale pink were more his style.

 

Emma had asked Gold what his issue was with Jones before but he was tight lipped on the subject. She had heard rumours though from his servants, that Jones had seduced Gold’s wife and bragged about it to half the ton. It seemed the sort of thing he would do. There were rumours of duel, that left Gold with a limp and Jones almost losing his hand. From the little she’d seen of him (a play, last week’s concert and a morning’s ride in Hyde Park) she had deduced him to be rather more concerned with the length of his collars than in other people’s feelings.

 

Honestly, she believed he shouldn’t be too difficult to win over, regardless of whether her dress was too bright.

 

She moved into the ballroom with Belle at her side, Gold disappearing into the card room, and a young man immediately asked her to dance. She accepted gratefully. They had arrived too late for the minuets so it was a country dance, Mr Beveridge’s Maggot, and she knew the steps well enough to the dated classic. Belle had coached her well.

 

The music was fast and her partner charming. She smiled; Gold had told her she smiled too broadly. “Young ladies do not grin in such an alarming fashion. They smile demurely, covering their mouths with a fan or their gloved hand.” There was nothing for it though; Emma could not make her face fall into a modest smile no matter how hard she tried.

 

She curtseyed to her partner at the end and, after being escorted back to Belle, was immediately asked to dance the next set with another gentleman. Gold had spread the rumour of her large fortune, it would seem, or her own assets were making her a valuable partner – if the eye line of her current partner was any indication. “Have you been to the theatre lately, Mr Booth?”

 

“No,” he said, eyes drifting up to meet hers for the first time in their dance. “And how are you enjoying London, Miss Swan?” His tone was patronising, as though speaking to a provincial girl barely out of short skirts.

 

“Quite well in my nine or so years living in the city, thank you,” she said and bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. He wasn’t her target; she could handle some minor ogling and mock him ceaselessly in her mind.

 

After three sets, Jones had not yet arrived – or had gone directly to the card rooms – and she tired of dancing with tedious young men so she slipped out into the corridor, finding a quiet nook. The ballroom was stifling hot with the press of people and the possibility of ever seeing the refreshment table seemed like an impossible dream.

 

She looked out the windows. It was dark outside, stars twinkling in the velvety sky. A few gentlemen walked the streets, neatly pressed and top hats giving the appearance of chimney tops. She sat on the edge of the velvet cushioning of the window seat, removing her gloves and trailing a finger across the soft fabric, and tapping her slippered foot to the beat of the music she could hear from the ballroom. Finally, she could clear her mind and ignore the ridiculous fripperies of wealthy life.

 

However, when she had a chance to rest her mind, she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman with whom she had collided last week. She had been struck immediately by her, the feel of her in Emma’s arms, the silk of her dress hiding a slim waist. When the woman had nearly fallen, Emma had caught a glimpse of one calf, clad in a translucent white stocking and boots that Emma, whose interested in fashion was fleeting, was envious of. Obviously a lady of considerable taste.

 

She had been unable to keep the grin off her face when she saw the woman’s face; the olive skin flushed high in her cheeks with anger, her light brown eyes flashing, her dark hair coiled beneath a stylish hat. She knew she was being rude but she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of her.

 

And then, of course, it turned out she was old enough to have a grown step-daughter. Their conversation had been the first honest discourse Emma had had since her transformation into the ward of Gold and young heiress. She had imagined, while trying and failing to fall asleep that week, that she might find the woman and make her acquaintance, that they would become lifelong friends.

 

As she contemplated returning to the ballroom, two figures appeared, barely visible from a chink in the curtains; one slim and feminine, the other tall and broad-shouldered. Emma stayed very still, holding her breath. Probably she shouldn’t be sitting out here unchaperoned. Now that she was here though, she might very well learn something useful from this pair.

 

The two were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t even notice her. For a moment there was silence and Emma grimaced when she heard sloppy sounds the indicated kissing. Then the woman spoke. “Oh, but my step-mama is sure to say no,” she said, her voice lilting and sweet. “She does not wish for me to be happy and you are only a second son.”

 

“I will speak with her.” The man’s voice was deep. Emma imagined him, broad and fair and dependable. He was a second son; she imagined he would be of a military man than a clergyman.

 

“She doesn’t know that we know each other. Wait but a while, dearest David.”

 

“I would wait forever for you, Mary Margaret,” the man said. Emma wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t be having with all this sentimental love-making. In her experience, men took what they wanted and then they left. Being romantic about the whole marriage business only made it harder later on when they inevitably tired of your company or began to keep a mistress. She had seen this often enough.

 

With some horror, she remembered her mission. If Gold had come looking for her or if Sir Killian had arrived, there would be trouble. She pulled her gloves back on and re-entered the ballroom, eyes scanning the room for Sir Killian. He was difficult to miss, a crowd of women surrounding him.

 

He spotted her and his face lit up in a smile. “Miss Swan,” he said, bowing so low his face disappeared into his collars entirely. His hessian boots were so shiny she could just about see her face in them and his waistcoat was a deep burgundy. He lifted his quizzing glass to his eye and looked over her outfit, before smiling. Obviously she had passed some sort of fashion examination.

 

“Sir Jones,” Emma replied, curtseying. “How wonderful to see you again.”

 

“Was just going to play cards,” he said. “Care to join?” He offered her an arm.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Emma said. “I am in no mood to gamble today.” Belle had warned her against joining gentlemen in the card room, at least until she was more assured of Sir Killian’s affections. It would certainly not do to create scandal at this most delicate stage.

 

“Save me a dance,” he said.

 

“With pleasure, sir,” she replied, touching his arm with her fan and fluttering her eyelashes.

 

Jones bowed again and turned on his heel, heeled boots clacking across the shiny floors. Emma moved in the direction of the powder room and bumped into someone. “I am so sorry,” she said, holding out a hand.

 

The girl took it and stood up. She looked to be eighteen, dressed in white that very nearly matched her creamy skin, and something about her seemed familiar, though Emma could not place her face. “Oh no,” she said and it was the same soft, high voice of the girl in the corridor. “It was my fault entirely.”

 

“I don’t believe we have been introduced,” Emma said, smiling. “I’m Emma Swan.”

 

“Oh!” the girl said with a gasp of recognition. Then she blushed, cheeks rosy. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s only, I have heard of you.”

 

“Only good things, I hope,” Emma said. She knew some of the rumours, gossip about this girl who had appeared this Season with a massive fortune and was making a play for the latest eligible bachelor.

 

“Of course,” the girl replied, though the tinge that stayed in her cheeks suggested otherwise. “My name is Lady Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

 

“Are you enjoying the ball?”

 

“Oh, yes,” she said. “This is my first Season.” She fussed with the skirts of her dress. “I was presented at court a fortnight ago and this is my first ball.” This surprised Emma. The girl she had heard in the corridor obviously already had a lover; this didn’t fit with the innocent girl in front of her, excited to be at her first ball. How good an actress was Lady Mary Margaret Blanchard?

 

“Your gown is lovely,” Emma said. Despite the colour – or lack thereof – the dress was cut in a flattering design, obviously the gown of an aristocrat. It would have looked terrible on Emma, but with Mary Margaret’s dark hair, it was quite exquisite.

 

“Thank you,” she said, blushing. “I love the colour of yours. So striking! I wish I was allowed to wear colour but my step-mama does not believe it is proper for a girl my age. She is renowned for her taste though.”

 

“She sounds formidable,” Emma said.

 

“Oh, she is, Miss Swan,” Mary Margaret replied, a combination of fear and adoration in her voice. “Would you like to meet her? She is quite a leader in polite society.”

 

She sounds a frightful bore, Emma privately thought. However, she replied, “I would love to,” and allowed herself to be led over to where the older women and chaperones sat.

 

She was expecting to be introduced to a stately older woman, one who dressed well and perhaps wore a touch too much powder, the sort of woman who people talked about as having “aged well”. Instead, she came face to face with the woman who had haunted her thoughts this past week and could not help the whispered “you!” that burst forth from her lips.

 

“This is my step-mama, Regina, the Marchioness of White,” Mary Margaret said, oblivious to Emma’s shock. “Step-mama, this is Miss Emma Swan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great response to chapter one. Very keen to know your thoughts as I continue on with this!


	3. In which Regina is told she is beautiful

“I say, Lady White, is that your step-daughter?” Lady Kathryn Midas, one of the wealthiest women in England and possibly the most indolent, said with an affected tone of surprise. She gestured a gloved hand in the general direction of the floor. “She has grown into quite a beauty.”

 

“She finally moved past the awkward, foal-like stage at least,” Regina said, because Mary Margaret had been all limbs and big dark eyes as an adolescent. She looked over at her step-daughter to see her talking with a blonde girl in a bright blue gown, which Regina couldn’t help but think was not appropriate attire for a young woman presumably of approximately Mary Margaret’s age. As she watched, Mary Margaret linked her arm with that of her new friend and practically dragged the girl towards her and Lady Midas. Regina resisted the urge to roll her eyes; why Mary Margaret thought she’d be at all interested in meeting some insipid, wet-behind-the-ears girl was beyond her.

 

But then they moved close enough for Regina to make out the girl’s features and she raised an eyebrow, the closest she would ever get in public to showing shock. It was her, the girl who had knocked her over the previous week. The girl was obviously equally surprised; those hazel eyes stared at her, wide and nervous. Her golden curls, now neatly arranged and adorned with feathers, fell in soft ringlets around her face. Her cheeks were flushed; a sign of how much of a crush the ball room was. Mary Margaret was saying something but Regina didn’t listen, too focused on the girl.

 

“…this is Miss Emma Swan,” Mary Margaret finished, before looking at Regina expectantly, doe eyes wide and pleading. She was obviously hoping for approbation – anything but the cool dislike she typically received from her step-mother.

 

But Regina ignored her step-daughter in favour of the fresh meat placed before her. “I believe we have met before, Miss Swan,” Regina said, lips curving into a smile.

 

“I wouldn’t call it meeting,” Miss Swan, who seemed to have recovered from the surprise though she still eyed Regina warily, said. “You bowled me over.” Mary Margaret looked curiously between the two of them.

 

“You make it sound so romantic,” Regina replied and Lady Midas, listening in, chuckled. Emma flushed pinker still, the scarlet dappling her neck and chest.

 

“I certainly didn’t mean to offend you,” Miss Swan said. She fiddled with her gloves, pulling them taut up her arms in what seemed to be a nervous gesture, and touched her hair, loosening a curl in the process. The tendril of gold fell to her neck, tickling her skin.

 

“That is an … interesting coloured gown, Miss Swan,” Regina said. She was loath to admit it, but the cobalt dress suited Miss Swan’s fair complexion and showed a boldness in taste that Regina could not help but admire. However, no girl barely out of the school room, as it seemed Miss Swan must be, should be wearing such a loud colour.

 

Miss Swan did not spot the implied insult and merely responded with a cheerful, “thank you!” She brushed at the folds of the dress, the fabric shifting and rippling under her fingers. The sheen of the fabric caught the light, creating shadows in the creases. “My modiste suggested I go with a lighter shade, but I cannot abide washed out colours.”

 

“I see,” Regina said. She turned to Mary Margaret and said, “Mary Margaret, perhaps you and Miss Swan should return to the dancing and leave us old ladies to our gossip.”

 

“You cannot be more than thirty,” Miss Swan said, grinning. Regina just stared at her. The sheer nerve of the girl to even allude to her age! Besides which, there was something alarming about that grin. It was entirely without reserve. It made her think, inexplicably, of Henry; if he was happy he grinned like that and when he was sad he cried. There was no attempt to hide his emotions and she wondered if Miss Swan showed the same openness.

 

“Dear,” she repeated. “I know Lord Nolan was hoping for a dance.” The young viscount was set to inherit an earldom on his father’s death – and was very wealthy to boot. He would make a fine match for Mary Margaret for although Mary Margaret would move down the ranks of peerage, in marrying a future earl, she would want for nothing. Regina was not so cruel as to marry her detested step-daughter off to someone who could not give her the style of life that she was used to. The fact that James Nolan was notorious for his gambling and philandering was merely the icing on the cake.

 

“Yes, Step-mama,” Mary Margaret murmured. She and Miss Swan departed, a final curtsey and grin from Miss Swan, and as she left she heard Mary Margaret say, “I think she liked you,” and Miss Swan’s responding laugh, high and intoxicating.

 

Regina shook her head to clear her mind of Miss Swan. However, as she watched the dance floor, the girl seemed to be everywhere. She danced with David Nolan, throwing her head back and laughing without reserve at something she said (which seemed improbable really given her dance partner), and she found herself drawn by the pale curve of her neck, the sharp jut of her strong, almost masculine chin. What really infuriated Regina, however, was watching Miss Swan flirt outrageously with Sir Killian Jones as they danced ‘Les Fleurs du Printemps’, finding excuses to touch his arm and, if Regina was not mistaken, she had pulled the scoop neck of her dress down further, exposing as much of her bosom as possible without being obscene.

 

Regina had cared for Jones’ older brother. She and Liam were of an age and had grown up on neighbouring estates in Derbyshire. They had been good friends at a young age, fishing and climbing trees together. But then Regina had been made to learn to be a lady and had no time for ‘running helter-skelter all over the country like a grubby street urchin’, as her mother had put it. Even then, Killian had been a brat, constantly trying to run after his brother and getting in the way of their games. He had fallen in the river once and broken his arm and there was one time where he had broken the boat that Liam had built for her.

 

And now Jones thought he was the next Beau Brummell. He had, last year, suggested to her that he and Regina were leaders in fashion, as though his blind following of whatever trend hit the ton put him even _close_ to Regina, who led the fashion world. Other people followed _her._ This, of course, was why she was so enraged at Miss Swan’s flirting. Sir Killian Jones did not deserve attention from anyone.

 

She retired to the powder room, finding her anger growing into a fiery ball behind her breastbone, and was checking her hair in the mirror when Miss Swan entered, almost skipping and humming tunelessly. “Lady White,” she said. “We have got to stop running into each other like this.”

 

Regina’s eyes scanned Miss Swan’s form. “You might wish to pull your dress up somewhat, dear,” she said, affecting disdain.

 

“Sorry,” Miss Swan said, pulling up her neckline. “I had heard Sir Jones was a décolletage sort of man and I’m on something of a mission.”

 

“Really?” Regina asked. “I had thought Sir Jones was rather a molly.”

 

“Lady White!” Miss Swan feigned horror, holding a gloved hand to her open mouth and eyes becoming comically wide. “How could you insinuate such things to a young, innocent girl like myself?”

 

Regina did not attempt to resist rolling her eyes this time. “Young I will give you, but innocent?” She laughed, though the sound was mirthless. “Miss Swan, you are entirely too calculated to be all together innocent.”

 

“And you are entirely too beautiful to be sitting with the matrons and chaperones,” Miss Swan replied, meeting Regina’s eyes, her own serious for the briefest of moments. “Why do you not dance?”

 

“I do not enjoy it,” Regina said after a moment staring blankly at the woman. It was the second time Miss Swan had called her beautiful in their brief acquaintance. No one had called her beautiful – excepting Henry who was six and therefore not the best judge of beauty – since she was eighteen. Elegant, stylish, refined, handsome, yes, but never beautiful.

 

“Liar,” Miss Swan said.

 

“Very well then,” she replied. “I am too old to dance.” She used to love dancing. She was light on her feet and graceful and lively and always had a full dance card at the few balls she went to as an unmarried woman. But Leopold was possessive; he did not care to dance, nor did he like to see her dancing with other men. And now, even with him dead, no one dared ask her, the spectre of Leopold remaining as an albatross around her neck.

 

“If you don’t wish to tell me, all you have to do is say so,” Miss Swan replied. She pushed at the lock of hair, which had fallen loose from the intricate braided bun earlier, behind her ear. “A pleasure to speak with you as always, Lady White.”

 

Regina returned to Lady Midas and her idle chatter somewhat discomfited. Shortly after, she claimed a headache, dragging Mary Margaret away from a gossip session with Miss Lucas and asking a footman to call their carriage. “A lovely ball,” she said to Locksley as they waited for their carriage. “Give my regards to Lady Locksley. I seem to have missed her.”

 

He smiled. “It has been lovely to see you again, Lady White.” He took her hand, kissing her gloved knuckles and Regina smiled. For a time, Locksley had fancied himself in love with her. Perhaps if she had been the naïve little fool she was at eighteen, she might have felt the same but eight years of marriage had hardened her. He was better off with Marian, or Lady Locksley as Regina tried – and often failed – to think of her now. She had his same idealism and she hoped they would never be disabused of that.

 

“Come, Mary Margaret,” she said, seeing their carriage, and the girl scurried after her, nearly tripping over in her haste to follow Regina as quickly as possible.

 

“That was a _wonderful_ ball,” Mary Margaret said in the carriage. She let out a breath, a happy sigh.

 

“How would you know, dear?” Regina asked. “It was your first.”

 

Mary Margaret flushed. “I know I am terribly inexperienced but I danced nearly every dance, twice with Misters Booth and Nolan, and the ballroom was so elegant.”

 

Ordinarily Regina would tolerate her chatter, tuning out her step-daughter’s voice until Mary Margaret let out a puff of air and fell silent, but she was too exhausted. “Dear, do cease your prattle. I have a headache.”

 

Mary Margaret nodded apologetically – and if anyone could make a nod seem apologetic it was Mary Margaret – though her dimpled smile still played across her lips. Regina was glad to get out of the carriage and part ways with her step-daughter.

 

She dismissed her lady’s maid, choosing to undress alone, draping her dress, petticoats and stays across the chaise in her bedroom for the maid to collect in the morning. She sat in front of her mirror, dressed in just her simple cotton shift, brushing her hair, the one hundred strokes her mother had insisted on from the moment she was old enough to count that high. It had become habit now, like so many things her mother had taught her. Her own face stared back at her from inside the mirror.

 

 

For the briefest moment, she could see it. She could ignore the beginnings of fine lines at her eyes and the scar adorning her upper lip and the complexion just slightly too olive to be convincingly English. She smiled and her reflection returned the smile.

 

Her maid had placed a warming pan in her bed and she curled up under the thick blankets. She was on the edge of sleep when there was a knock at her bedroom door. Sighing, she dragged herself out from under the covers, pulled on a dressing gown and lit a candle. Henry stood outside her door, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. “Mama,” he said, voice shaking, and Regina scooped him up, arms aching under the strain, and carried him into her room.

 

“Did you have a nightmare, little man?”

 

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. “There was a giant dog…”

 

It was the same nightmare he had been having on and off for a couple of years now. When he was three, he had been bitten by a dog in the park and had developed a pathological fear of the creatures. “Hush, my darling,” Regina said, stroking his hair. “There’s no dog. Just me.”

 

“Can I sleep with you?”

 

Regina was certain it was not the done thing in society, certain that she would be shunned should anyone find out that she indulged her son so, but she found that she didn’t much care. “Of course, darling,” she said, sliding back into bed and letting Henry crawl in beside her, resting his head on her shoulder and curling one hand into the cloth of her shift. She rubbed circles on his stomach and leaned across to press a kiss to his forehead.

 

“Can I have a story?” Henry asked, his voice already worn with exhaustion.

 

“Once upon a time,” Regina said, speaking softly. “There was a young woman who desperately wanted a child but after six years of marriage she had not been blessed with a baby. One day she stepped out to take an early morning horse ride and nearly tripped over a bundle on her doorstep.”

 

Henry’s breathing started to even out, though his eyes were still half open. She pressed another kiss to his forehead. “It was a baby boy, wrapped in a beautiful white blanket with a bird clumsily embroidered on it in purple wool. The woman’s husband wanted to send the child to an orphanage but for the first time in their marriage she stood up to him and refused to allow it because the moment she saw the baby, she fell hopelessly in love with him.”

 

Henry’s eyes fluttered shut, his eyelashes impossibly long and dark against his pale skin. She stroked his hair and watched him, now too awake to sleep herself. He loved hearing the story of how he came into her life, though she was sure one day he would start to wonder about the woman who gave birth to him. She dreaded it, the idea that she was not Henry’s real mother and that he would start to hold that against her one day.

 

She didn’t tell him everything about his arrival in her life, of course, not about the late term miscarriages, the three babies who never made it into the world alive. She had buried the tiny, misshapen bodies on the grounds of the Marquis of White, and now couldn’t even visit their graves whenever she wished. She did not tell him that after the third miscarriage her husband lost interest in her altogether, a relief really after years of pleasure-free and sometimes painful intercourse. She didn’t tell him about the fights she had had with Leopold to keep the baby, her hurling plates and vases, screaming abuse at him; Leopold locking her in her room and refusing her food for her disobedience. She didn’t tell him that it was Mary Margaret that swayed Leopold in the end, a fact Regina bitterly resented because it meant she was beholden to the girl.

 

Maybe one day she would tell him the whole story but it would not be today. Slowly, with Henry’s steady breathing warming her heart, she allowed herself to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews so far. Please keep them coming!
> 
> I really like the balance of this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it as well.  
> Also, in my planning "Emma flirts outrageously with Sir Killian Jones" is written about eight times.
> 
> Very occasionally I am posting stuff from this on tumblr if you want to follow (aimtoothpaste).


	4. In which Emma visits the British Museum

Emma had a spare hour to herself for the first time in what felt like centuries. Before Belle – or worse, Gold – could find her and give her an occupation, she crept down the back stairs and out through the kitchen, waving at Gold’s cook, an older woman by the name of Smith.

 

“I won’t say anything, love,” she said, patting Emma’s arm as she walked past and leaving a smudge of flour on the sleeve of her pelisse. Emma got on well with Mrs Smith, who liked anyone with a hearty appetite. Emma, who had never forgotten burnt porridge and too many nights when she had run away from school going to sleep with a growling stomach, never turned down any meal and for that Mrs Smith thought she hung the moon. Some mornings, if she woke early, she would sneak down to the kitchen and sit by the fire, peeling potatoes or shucking pea pods or helping out with any meaningless task, and just enjoy the company of the crotchety older woman.

 

“Thank you,” Emma said, opening the back door and sneaking out through the garden gates. She intended to enjoy the city she had called home these past nine years – though Mayfair was considerably different from the areas she had found herself in during the first eight years. It was humid out, though the grey sky threatened rain and Emma was glad she had worn sturdy boots.

 

She walked swiftly, ignoring looks from passers-by and failing to apologise to a gentleman she brushed past in her haste to get away from the stifling atmosphere that pervaded Gold’s home. She had remembered to wear a hat – even if her hair was getting away from her as usual – and was wearing her modest green pelisse over a perfectly ordinary cream muslin dress. They could go hang if they were concerned about her energetic pace. It still astonished her that the gentleman she had brushed past had been more concerned by her inelegant hair than the fact that she had touched his jacket; just a year ago, he would have been checking his pockets. But then, a year ago he would never have felt her pick his pocket.

 

Her walk took her towards the British Museum. As a younger woman, the structure of the building had fascinated her, particularly the Greek-inspired façade with its ionic columns – though she had never once plucked up the courage to actually enter the museum. She had read about it in a guide book though. One of the good things about being trained to be a governess was that she had a passing understanding and Greek and Latin and therefore some knowledge of the myths. They had fascinated her. She had often thought that if she had been born a wealthy woman, she might have liked to have travelled around Greece, studying antiquities. She felt eccentricity would have suited her.

 

So busy was she plotting an imagined future as eccentric lady archaeologist, she did not notice the small figure standing before her as she walked down Greater Russell Street. She collided with the young boy, who was sniffing dismally and wiping his nose on his sleeve. She bent down. “Hullo,” she said. He looked up at her, pale face dirty with tear tracks. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she asked.

 

“I’m lost,” he said and dissolved into a fresh bout of tears. Though Emma’s usual response to small children was to run as quickly as possible in the opposite direction, she found herself drawn to this boy. His dark hair fell a little too long into his eyes, he was dressed in warm, well-made clothes and he had the clear appearance of being much loved, from his neatly pressed collars to his shiny boots.

 

“Who have you lost?” she asked, fishing through her reticule and finding a clean handkerchief for the child, which she handed to him. He blew his nose noisily and she stifled a laugh at the disproportionately loud noise that emerged from his little body.

 

“My mama,” he said, still sniffing. “We were going to see the marbles but I stopped to look at a bird an’ she disappeared an’ I don’t know where I am.”

 

Emma stared at him for a moment, forehead furrowed, before it clicked. “Do you mean the Elgin Marbles?” He nodded and rubbed his eyes with his fist. “Well, I was going that way myself,” she said. “How about I take you and we can wait for your mother there.” The boy nodded again, taking a gulping breath. Then, to Emma’s shock, he wrapped one of his little hands into hers. To disguise her disquiet, she started talking. Her teachers at school had always complained that she had talked too much and while she had learnt to control herself, she still babbled when she was nervous. “I’m Miss Swan but you can call me Emma if you would like because we’re going to be friends, aren’t we? What’s your name?”

 

“Henry,” he said, smiling tremulously up at her. She felt the palm of his hand warm against hers and squeezed it briefly in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

 

“Good name,” she said, nodding her approval. “And you’re four? Seven? Fifty-three?”

 

He giggled at that. “I’m six,” he replied and Emma’s stomach churned momentarily.

 

“Practically an adult,” she said, raising her voice and injecting an extra level of false cheer to exorcise the memories Henry’s age had brought up in her. She had been seventeen when the little boy, less than three weeks old, had been taken from her. Giving him his best chance, Gold had called it. “You’ll be wooing ladies and fighting in duels in no time.”

 

He giggled again, the laugh lighting up the wan face, dimples forming in his cheeks and eyes squinting shut. “Mama says I’m not to fight duels,” he said. “She says they’re barb-ic.”

 

“Very wise, your mother,” Emma said, assuming he meant ‘barbaric’. They reached the gates to the British Museum. “Here we are! Shall we wait on the steps or go inside?”

 

“I see her,” he cried and let go of Emma’s hand, running towards a well-dressed distant figure who, disregarding any sort of decorum, swung the boy up in her arms and clutched him tight to her. The little boy pointed over to Emma and the woman, still holding Henry close to her with his arms wrapped around her neck, began to walk over.

 

As she got closer, Emma realised it was Lady White, her usually impeccable façade harassed, several strands of hair flying loose from beneath her hat and her breath coming a little too quickly. There were speckles of mud at the hem of her pelisse. Emma bit back a curse at the sight of her. Apparently, the fates were taking pleasure in throwing her together with the woman. The last thing she needed was another argument with the woman. “We really must stop meeting like this, Lady White,” she said, who merely nodded, her focus on Henry, stroking his hair in a futile attempt to tidy it and pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

 

Henry looked between the two of them, brown eyes wide and curious. “Mama, do you know Emma?”

 

“We have met,” Lady White said, putting Henry down though she still clasped his hand tight in hers. “However, clearly we are not as well acquainted as you and Miss Swan are. Christian names already, Miss Swan? How very _modern_ of you.” The word modern rolled around on her tongue as though it was somehow filthy.

 

“He was crying,” Emma said, shrugging. “I decided that propriety was not as important as cheering up the boy.” Lady White’s expression fixed on her, her brown irises flecked with gold and her plump, red lips parted. For a moment, Emma’s heart sped faster.

 

“Emma – Miss Swan – she said I could fight in duels,” Henry said, tugging at the wool of his mother’s sleeve to regain the attention he had lost.

 

Emma wasn’t sure what she was expecting but seeing Lady White’s skin blanch and her eyes darken and narrow at the word ‘duel’ was definitely not it. “I will thank you, Miss Swan, not to put ideas of that nature into my son’s head. Come Henry.” And she spun around, clearly intending to storm off.

 

Henry got in too quickly though. “Mama, can Emma come and see the marbles with us?” he asked. “They’re really big,” he confided to Emma who again had to swallow down a laugh.

 

“Well, only because they’re _really_ big,” Emma said, though she looked across at Lady White as she answered. She sniffed but didn’t refuse her son’s request and Emma wondered whether she would ever refuse her son anything. Instead she simply strode ahead, making Emma run along after her and Henry, up the stone steps and into the building itself.

 

The museum was quiet and Emma stared in wonder at her surroundings. She never thought she’d be allowed to just walk in here, without judgement or derision. Lady White strode through the entranceway, Henry trotting along beside her, chattering away. He looked back. “Hurry up, Emma!” he called out, and so Emma shook her head and rushed to catch up. They stopped when they reached the Parthenon Room.

 

“Where are the marbles?” Henry asked, the beginnings of a sulk forming on his features.

 

“These _are_ the marbles, darling,” Regina said. “They’re from a temple in Greece. This one shows a battle between the Centaurs and the Greeks.” She pointed towards a metope depicting the uncivilised horse-men. Henry pulled a face.

 

“Centaurs are pretty great but I much prefer the Amazons,” Emma said and Lady White just stared at her, one eyebrow raised. “Powerful women who do battle and argue that women can be equal to men. How could anyone not love them?” She wanted to tell Lady White that the Amazons used to cut off one breast so it would not get in the way when they shot arrows – _not_ something she was taught at school – but she suspected Lady White would not thank her for speaking of this in the presence of her son.

 

Lady White raised an eyebrow. “I see you are something of a scholar, Miss Swan. I suggest you do not tell Sir Jones of this. I suspect he is more interested in silk stockings than in blue.”

 

Emma laughed, the sound echoing through the Parthenon Room. An older woman turned and stared at her over thick spectacles. “I know how to judge an audience,” Emma said. “For instance, young Henry looks horribly bored right now.” True enough, Henry was stubbing his toe against the wall of the museum, glowering at his mother who he obviously believed had deliberately fooled him into absorb culture instead of playing the best game of marbles ever.

 

“Mama,” he said, and there was a distinct whine in his voice. “This is boring.”

 

“I can always take you back home,” Lady White said. “I am sure Miss Boyd has plenty of grammar she would love to teach you.”

 

The sudden look of horror on Henry’s face was really quite comical, Emma reflected. He dutifully followed his mother after that, and despite himself, enjoyed the stories Lady White and, very occasionally, Emma told him about the various marbles. His reward was the Egyptian room, where he spent a good ten minutes staring at a beautifully-painted sarcophagus. “When I die,” he said, “I should like to be buried in a scophagus.”

 

“Sarcophagus, darling,” Lady White said and Emma tried not to notice the flash of distress that crossed her face at Henry’s statement, eyes closing momentarily and taking in a deep breath.

 

As they left, Henry relishing the freedom of being able to be noisy again and chasing a pigeon in the courtyard, Emma turned to Lady White. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For mentioning duels to your son. I was trying to take his mind off being lost.”

 

Lady White watched her son, features softened with care. “The whole practice is barbarous. Civilised people do not try and kill each other.” There was more to the story than that, Emma could tell. However, it was equally clear that the conversation was over.

 

“Good day, Lady White,” Emma said. “I’m certain I will see you again.”

 

Lady White inclined her head. “Until we meet again, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma’s return to Gold’s was later than she expected. She walked as softly as she could through the hall, pulling off her hat and gloves as she tiptoed up the stairs. “A word, Miss Swan,” came Gold’s voice as she passed his study.

 

Emma cursed under her breath, though she followed the Scottish brogue to Gold’s study. She stood in the doorway, Gold sitting at his desk with tidy piles of paper in front of him. She didn’t know how he had made his fortune; he had always said he was in trade, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something less savoury underneath the veneer of respectability. Something about the man made her skin crawl but she owed him a favour and he was giving her two thousand pounds recompense if the plan was successful, enough money for her to set herself up quietly and comfortable somewhere far away from this absurd, aristocratic lifestyle.

 

Maybe she would find a sleepy, peaceful town well out of London and buy a cottage. She could be content in a quiet town.

 

“Where have you been all afternoon?” he asked. “I called for you an hour ago and Miss French informed me she could not locate you.”

 

“I went for a walk,” Emma said, hands behind her back so Gold could not see her fidgeting. She didn’t tell him about Regina and Henry. Something about that afternoon felt so wonderfully private and she wanted to keep it that way.

 

“My, what an athlete,” he said, sarcasm lacing every word. “Four hours of walking. I do hope no one saw you. You look an absolute mess.”

 

Emma hated that she reached up to pat her hair. Gold stood and walked towards her, leaning heavily on his cane. He smiled and his gold tooth glinted. There was no warmth in the smile and, as he came closer, Emma’s body tensed so she would not to recoil. “Miss Swan, I am a man accustomed to getting what I want. You have not been trying hard enough.”

 

“I have been!” she said. She had been to every ball and gathering, danced until her feet had blistered, smiled until her jaw hurt, flirting until she cried… She didn’t know what else she could possibly do.

 

“Then why has he not yet proposed?” Gold asked. He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek and this time Emma couldn’t help but flinch away from his cold, dry hands; they felt scaly, like crocodile scales. “You’re a very handsome woman but you are disposable, Miss Swan. Get yourself engaged to him, ruin him and break the engagement. Fail and you will find I am less than kind.”

 

Emma nodded.

 

“You may go,” Gold said, waving a hand to dismiss her. It took all of Emma’s willpower not to run out of the room. She maintained composure until she reached her room, before crawling onto the bed, back against the headboard, and curling her knees up to her chest.

 

Then and only then, she cried.


	5. In which the possibility of revenge is a fine thing indeed

It was just gone mid-day when Regina snuck out of the house. Of course, she couldn’t exactly call it sneaking when she was let out by her butler, the intent simply being to stop Henry from noticing and wanting to be taken along. She was driven to Hyde Park, where she was met by her groom. She tried not to learn their names anymore; she had learned the hard way that it did not do to get too attached to the people who cared for her horses.

 

“He’s all ready to go, Lady White,” he said, handing her the reins. Regina allowed herself to be boosted onto the saddle, frustrated, as always, at the requirement of having to ride side saddle. Not for the first time she wished she was back in Derbyshire. She recalled long hours riding astride with considerable fondness. It was absolutely inappropriate for a woman, of course, but who was there to tell her no? Her husband had been dead these four years at least, her mother had died two years ago and the servants at her Derbyshire home would never divulge her secrets. She even had a pair of old breeches set aside for the occasion and found them regularly cleaned and pressed by her maid.

 

Still, she was able to ride in London and that was no small thing. The horse she kept in town was well cared for, though he was not a patch on her precious Rocinante in his prime, though he was now growing old and barely strong enough for more than a light trot. This horse, named Quixote, had been in her possession for two years, sported a glossy chestnut coat and a placid temperament. She patted his neck and he nickered before she nudged his side with her foot and they went off at a trot along the row.

 

Hyde Park was crowded, the crème de la crème of the ton out, showing off. She spotted Lady Midas at a distance, wearing a garish, fuchsia riding coat and a hat, so over-trimmed with feathers that it suggested that there was a very bald and cross peacock somewhere in England. Her horse barely moved beyond a walk as she chattered away to a couple of her followers. She waved over at Regina, who pretended to be intently focused ahead of her. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Lady Midas; she liked the woman well enough but she just required far too much attention.

 

She knew Lady Midas would be assessing her riding costume, looking for detail to discuss with her seamstress – though as often happened with a lady who had more money than taste, the colours would clash and she would add so many frills and furbelows that Regina’s own simple elegant design would be totally undercut. She placed the reins in one hand and brushed at the navy of her riding coat, half-boots in black leather barely visible at the hem.

 

She continued to ride, urging her horse on as quickly as she was allowed without becoming the talk of the ton. And so it was that she almost rode right past Jones and Miss Swan. Miss Swan was so patently uncomfortable on the horse, Regina almost laughed. She slouched forward, her hands gripping at the reins so tightly that her knuckles were white and bloodless. Sir Jones seemed rather more at ease and also appeared oblivious to Miss Swan’s discomfort, urging his horse on faster, only slowing down on occasion to allow Miss Swan to catch up.

 

Through this all, Miss Swan attempted to flirt. There was something almost desperate about her today and Regina felt an unfamiliar sensation: a surge of pity rush through her. Though she had seen Miss Swan flirt with Jones before, she had always seemed carefree, as though flirtation was in her nature. Regina had even briefly imagined the girl to be flirting with her at the Locksley ball. This was new.

 

“Miss Swan, Sir Jones,” she said, turning Quixote and pulling alongside Miss Swan. “A singular pleasure.” Jones’ waistcoat looked like the curtains in her parlour. In fact, yes, she looked again, it was the same fabric. His collar points were high, with a ruffle of lace at the as a cravat and his boots were brown leather.

 

Jones smirked and tipped his hat at her, though careful to ensure it did not damage his Brutus hairstyle, artfully arranged curls brushed forward and high on his head. Regina noted she had seen Beau Brummel affect the same style, and much more successfully. “Afternoon, Lady White. Fine day, isn’t it?”

 

Miss Swan smiled at her, though her mouth was tensed, lines forming at the sides. “Lady White,” she murmured. She had never heard her speak in such a demure tone before.

 

“Sir Jones, ride on ahead for a moment,” Regina said. “I wish to speak to Miss Swan a moment. Women’s business.” Jones looked as though he might fight against this for a moment, but with one look at Regina, who tapped her fingers against her thigh, he seemed to change his mind and road ahead. “Your form is terrible,” Regina said when they were alone.

 

“Thank you so much,” Miss Swan replied, grimacing. “As ever, it is a delight talking to you.”

 

“Loosen your grip on the reins and make sure they are even,” Regina ordered, ignoring her sarcasm. Miss Swan adjusted, nearly slipping from the horse as she did so. “Better. Now, sit up straight, hips and waist square with the horse. Your back does not look quite centred. Can you shuffle a little on the saddle?”

 

Miss Swan tensed again, reins jerking tight. “I don’t…”

 

“You have very little experience with horses,” Regina observed, raising an eyebrow. Around them, people continued to ride past and she saw couples strolling together in the distance. She and Leopold had walked here every Saturday in the weeks following their engagement; it had quite ruined the park for her. They had never ridden, however. Leopold had been an average horseman in his youth and by the time Regina married him, on the wrong side of fifty and a tendency towards gout, he had never wished to ride. She had always been grateful for that.

 

“You’re very abrupt,” Miss Swan replied, lips in a firm line and eyes narrowed. Her shoulders shook, however, and Regina recognised the signs. Miss Swan was terrified. If she had known anything about horses, she would know that she was riding an incredibly gentle mare; her groom had helped Jones’ groom to pick her and had raved about the beautiful horse the next time Regina had seen him.

 

“I am _trying_ to help you, Miss Swan,” Regina said. “If, however, you would like to fall from your horse in front of Jones, be my guest.”

 

Miss Swan sighed. “I’m terrified of horses,” she admitted, before shuffling on the saddle so that she sat more evenly.

 

“Then why the devil are you riding one?” Regina asked. “Idiot girl.”

 

“Sir Jones asked me,” she said, shrugging.

 

“And when Sir Jones calls, one _must_ answer,” Regina said, voice laced with sarcasm. “I wonder at your taste.”

 

“Wonder away,” Miss Swan said, but Regina noticed the change of posture, the stiffening of her spine. She had relaxed momentarily but something about Jones made her deeply uncomfortable, which surprised Regina since she seemed to be making a play for him. “Thank you for your assistance, Lady White.” And she spurred her horse forward, catching up with Jones and leaving Regina behind to finish her ride quite alone.

 

She returned home, faint beads of perspiration forming on her forehead and the growing suspicion that her hair beneath her hat was a bird’s nest, to find Mary Margaret descending the stairs. “Good afternoon, Step-mama,” she said, smiling, dimples flashing.

 

Regina nodded, reining in the flicker of annoyance that threatened to cross her features. “Are you ready for Almack’s tonight?” She had introduced Mary Margaret to Lady Jersey at an assembly two nights prior and the woman had been quite taken with Mary Margaret’s innocent charm. She and Lady Jersey did not get on as well as they might, Regina suspected due to some bad blood between the woman and Regina’s now deceased mother. Cora had been difficult and had made more enemies than friends in the ton. Regina hadn’t thought much of Cora’s friends; after all, Leopold had been one of them.

 

“Oh, yes,” Mary Margaret said and then paused, her hands twisting in front of her. “I wonder, would you help me choose a gown? My maid has picked out three but I cannot decide between them.”

 

“Don’t fidget, dear,” Regina said and her step-daughter’s hands flew to her sides. “Of course I would be happy to help,” she added and Mary Margaret beamed. She lapped up every minor attention Regina threw at her. Regina wished she could stem the tide of bile that spewed up in her when she saw the girl but it just wasn’t possible. She followed Mary Margaret upstairs; the girl was practically skipping.

 

Three virtually identical dresses in various pastel shades were laid out for Mary Margaret. She bounced on the balls of her feet, as Regina inspected the dresses. The peach was perhaps too strong a colour for her first outing to Almack’s and the pink was insipid. She couldn’t think how she had allowed Mary Margaret to have a dress made in that fabric.

 

“The cream silk,” Regina said, after some consideration. “Pair it with your mother’s pearls.”

 

“Thank you!” Mary Margaret looked as though she wanted to hug Regina, but thankfully she resisted that impulse. Regina hadn’t hugged the girl since the early years of her marriage when Mary Margaret had still been a child. Leopold had liked to see Regina mother his daughter, irrespective of Regina’s feelings on the matter or the barely ten year age difference, and it was easier to comply.

 

“I must check in on Henry,” Regina said and tried not to feel too guilty or satisfied when Mary Margaret’s face fell, coaching her face into a neutral expression.

 

She stood at the opening door of the nursery, just watching the scene before her. Miss Boyd was attempting to get Henry to complete basic arithmetic but he was distracted, chattering away about dragons, and poor Miss Boyd looked ready to tear her hair out. “Henry, are you being disagreeable?” Regina asked. The beleaguered governess let out a sigh and smiled at Regina, pushing heat-dampened curls away from her forehead.

 

Henry’s head whirled around and he smiled beatifically. “No,” he said, drawing out the vowel. “I just don’t like sums.”

 

Regina sat down beside him in one of the uncomfortable, miniature nursery chairs. “Do you want to be an ignoramus all your life?” she asked. “Arithmetic is important.”

 

“But it’s boring,” he whined.

 

“You’re being very rude to Miss Boyd, dear,” Regina said. “Perhaps I should leave.”

 

Henry’s face fell and he turned to his governess. “I’m sorry, Miss Boyd,” he said, widening his eyes and letting his lower lip jut out.

 

“Go and get a cup of tea, dear,” Regina said and Miss Boyd fled gratefully. “Now, my little man, I have a small amount of time I can spend with you. What would you like to do?”

 

“Can we do some music?”

 

“I think that sounds like a fine plan,” she said, standing, taking his hand and leading him to a smaller parlour downstairs where the pianoforte stood. She settled in on the stool, Henry sitting beside her, and she played, pressing lightly against the keys. Henry’s fingers followed hers and occasionally he pressed a key, distorting the sound. Every time he created ugliness under ‘Fur Elise’ he giggled and by the end of the piece, Regina was smiling broadly.

 

“Now sing,” Henry commanded, nestling his head into the space between her arm and her body. So she sang, an old lullaby her father sang to her, the lyrics in what she thought was Spanish. When she had been five, her mother had forbidden her father from singing it to her and Regina had been taught French and Italian by her tutors, not Spanish. But she still remembered the song; it had all come back to her when Henry was fussing as a baby.

 

Henry sighed contentedly and mumbled along with her.

 

Later, having put Henry to bed and dressed, she descended the staircase to meet Mary Margaret and take her to Almack’s. They rode in silence and when they arrived Mary Margaret was immediately swept off to dance with David Nolan. Regina navigated the crush and settled into a chair next to Mrs Lucas. “Radiant as always, Regina,” Eugenia said, shifting comfortably in the chair.

 

“Thank you, dear,” she replied. “How are you?”

 

“Can’t complain,” Eugenia said. “Well, I could but you don’t want to hear it and it wouldn’t be much use.” She cackled, that low, sharp laugh that made Regina’s lips twitch upwards in spite of herself. “Mary Margaret and the Nolan whelp make for a handsome couple.”

 

Regina looked across the dance floor and spotted her step-daughter. Even from this distance, Mary Margaret looked happier than Regina had ever seen her, eyes sparkling and smile broad and unpractised. Regina thought she might recognise that look, had seen it on her own face once upon a time, and it horrified her.

 

Mary Margaret was falling in love.

 

“Excuse me, Eugenia,” she said, standing and scanning the assembly room, spotting her target in the far corner. “I have someone I must speak to.” Eugenia Lucas nodded and turned to the old woman next to her. Regina swept across to the Earl of Spencer, the expensive fabrics of her skirts rustling. “Lord Spencer,” she said. “What a pleasure to see you.”

 

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady White,” the earl said and Regina resisted a shudder. She hated the man; his slimy, sycophantic nature had become more and more apparent the longer she had spent with him and Leopold over the brief years of her marriage. He and Leopold had been good friends because Leopold was easily flattered and Spencer was a hideous social climber. “My son and your daughter make a handsome pair.”

 

“Tragic, is it not, that he is not the son who will inherit,” Regina said.

 

“Do I understand your meaning?” Lord Spencer asked, his block-like jaw grimacing into a smile and his beady eyes lighting up. Mary Margaret’s inheritance was substantial indeed and Spencer had always been obsessed with money, as much as his older son was obsessed with losing it in gaming hells.

 

“I wish to align our families,” Regina said. “I believe the viscount and Mary Margaret would make a fine pair.”

 

“We understand each other very well indeed,” Lord Spencer said. “I am certain James will not object.”

 

“Come to tea next week,” Regina said, smiling and looking at Spencer from under her lashes. “With a little luck, they can be married by the time the season ends.” Spencer looked vaguely stunned and she sauntered away, a more natural smile blooming on her face.

 

Finally, sweet revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments both here and on tumblr. I seriously appreciate them. 
> 
> Apologies about any of the horse stuff. I know next to nothing about riding, let alone riding side saddle.


	6. In which the least surprising secret in the world is revealed

Belle perched on the bed behind Emma, brushing out her rapidly drying hair. “And how did it go with the riding?” Emma shrugged and Belle slapped her shoulder with the brush. “Ladies do not shrug.”

 

“It was … fine,” Emma said. It was cold in her room, wind seeping through chinks in the windows and wending its way around her shoulders, not helped by the fact that she was just wearing her undergarments. “I just – horse riding is really not the best place for me to try and seduce Jones. Perhaps Mr Gold could keep that in mind.”

 

“I know you don’t like it,” Belle said. “But it is one of the few ways you can be alone while surrounded by hundreds of people.”

 

“I might have fallen,” Emma snapped. “If it weren’t for…” She stopped. She had not told Belle about Lady White, beyond their brief introduction at the ball. She relished that private relationship, totally disconnected from Gold and the unsavoury things she had to do.

 

“For what?” Belle’s eyes widened and Emma contemplated telling her, but Belle’s loyalties, as twisted as it was, were for Gold and Emma knew she told him everything.

 

“If it weren’t for my incredible thigh muscles,” Emma said and Belle laughed, smacking her again with the brush.

 

“Comments like that might make Jones interested,” she said, “but they would also make you a pariah in the ton.”

 

“Perish the thought,” Emma muttered. If anyone were to find out what Gold was up to, being a pariah would be preferable to some things that she had imagined happening as a consequence. She couldn’t help but picture Lady White, her pink lips twisted and her nose wrinkled in disgust. It confused her how much this image distressed her.

 

“I think spending time with Lady Blanchard will be good for you,” Belle said, twisting Emma’s hair into a bun and securing it with what felt like hundreds of hairpins, before curling the shorter ringlets at the front around her fingers. “You should have friends and some of her idealism might rub off on you. Now, stand.” Emma stood and let Belle dress her in a simple, striped linen dress.

 

Lady Mary Margaret Blanchard turned up on Gold’s doorstep at precisely one o’clock, dressed in white muslin and a pale blue spencer, and practically vibrating with excitement. “Shall we go?” she asked, when Emma appeared from behind the butler, tying her bonnet under her chin with a scarlet ribbon. Without waiting for an answer, Mary Margaret linked her arm with Emma’s and practically dragged her into the waiting carriage.

 

“So where are we actually going?” Emma asked. It was nice to have a friend – or at least someone in her life who did not want something from her, or who did not snipe at her or confuse her quite so much as Lady White.

 

“Pall Mall,” Mary Margaret said, the curls framing her face bouncing with the motion of the carriage. “I want to find ribbon and my favourite haberdashery is there.”

 

“Wonderful.” Emma hated shopping; she didn’t mind the clothing that came from it, but the several days she had spent with Belle at the beginning of the Season being measured for her wardrobe just about killed her. However, she was having no luck with Sir Jones, the next assembly she had been invited to was not for another two days and, most importantly, Gold approved of the association. “Lady Blanchard is a good ally to have,” he had said. “She will give you a veneer of respectability and of youth, which,” he added, looking critically over Emma, “you sorely need.” Emma had just barely resisted the urge to snarl at him.

 

So now she was going shopping with Lady Blanchard, who had insisted the first night they met that Emma must call her Mary Margaret because they were going to be “great friends”. Honestly, she would rather spend her time with Mary Margaret’s step-mother. At least Lady White wasn’t so eternally optimistic all the time. Mary Margaret busied herself with her reticule as they drove and Emma stared out the window, scenes of London passing her by. In spite of having lived in Mayfair the best part of two months, she could not get used to this side of London, the grand houses, clean streets and impeccably dressed men and women.

 

“Wait for us. We shall return at four,” Mary Margaret said, her tone imperious, and for the first time, Emma noted a resemblance to Lady White. She linked arms with Emma again and Emma found herself dragged along beside her to the haberdashery. “I have a bonnet that needs trimming,” Mary Margaret said. “I require a second opinion on colours and my step-mama flatly refused to go shopping with me. I am so glad you are here, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma just smiled and let Mary Margaret keep talking. “Actually, she has an appointment across town with an old friend. I should not be so jealous of her time. She has a great deal on her plate – and I am such a disagreeable step-daughter.”

 

Emma murmured, “of course you’re not,” but Mary Margaret did not appear to hear her.

 

“Here we are,” she said. “Do you need anything?”

 

“I’m just here to help you,” Emma said, smiling, and was rewarded with a bright, dimpled smile from Mary Margaret in return.

 

As they admired ribbon and Mary Margaret tossed up between lilac and peach silk, there was a squeal from the back of the shop and a stunningly beautiful, long-limbed girl flew forward, wrapping her arms around Mary Margaret and grinning widely, white teeth gleaming. “Ruby!” Mary Margaret cried. “I thought you were visiting your aunt.”

 

“That was in the morning!” the girl said. “Granny agreed to take me shopping afterwards.” An older woman was standing by the lace, gimlet-like eyes focused on Emma as though she did not entirely trust her.

 

“Ruby, this is Miss Emma Swan,” Mary Margaret said. “Emma, Miss Lucas.”

 

Miss Lucas held out a hand and shook Emma’s enthusiastically. She had the most alarming golden eyes and a long, expressive face and Emma liked her immediately. “Lovely to meet you at last, Miss Swan,” she said. “Mary Margaret has talked of little else since she met you at the Locksley’s ball.”

 

“Oh,” Emma said, confused because she really didn’t think she had made that much of an impression on Mary Margaret. Was the girl so starved for affection? “Well, it’s nice to meet you too.”

 

“So, Mary Margaret,” Miss Lucas said, “have you read ‘Sense and Sensibility’ yet?”

 

“I just finished chapter fourteen of the first volume,” she said. “It’s wonderful. I think Willoughby must be the perfect gentleman.”

 

Emma, who had finished all three volumes, it being one of the few interesting books Belle had given her as part of her ‘learning to be a lady’ studies, snorted and Miss Lucas turned and gave her a conspiratorial look, whispering, “don’t. Say. Anything.” Then, she turned back to Mary Margaret and brightly said, “oh, he is lovely, isn’t he? You remind me a little of Marianne.”

 

“Thank you!” Mary Margaret said, totally in earnest, and Miss Lucas grinned, all red lips and wide mouth and white teeth.

 

“Ruby, we’re going, girl,” her grandmother said, moving forward and clapping her granddaughter around the shoulders. Miss Lucas flashed Emma another wide smile, made promises to visit Mary Margaret before the week was out and left with her grandmother.

 

“I think I have made my decision,” Mary Margaret said, holding up the spool of lilac ribbon. Emma grinned in relief.

 

They were strolling down Pall Mall, arm in arm, when Emma saw Mister Nolan coming towards them. She had danced with him at the Locksley ball and he had made her laugh – actual proper laughter rather than the false laughs she forced out around Sir Jones because even the vaguely humorous comments he made on a regular basis made her feel tense, because Gold had impressed upon her that if she got it wrong, if he didn’t propose, she would lose everything.

 

She thought he might have been falling for her at the Pantheon Assembly Rooms two days prior. She had danced two sets with him and he had accompanied her to the refreshment table, fetching tea and ices for her and Belle. “M’lady,” he said, bowing low, tone vaguely mocking, before sitting in the chair next to hers.

 

“Good sir,” she said, looking up at him and smiling. Belle sat, back turned away from them, and Emma risked placing her gloved hand on the table, stroking her pinkie finger against Jones’ hand. He met her eyes, letting their hands touch for a moment. “Have you seen the performance of ‘The Rivals’?”

 

“Not yet,” Emma said. He was looking at her in a way that made her horribly uncomfortable, eyes seeming to bore into her very soul and lips pouted in an almost girlish fashion, and she knew in that moment that Gold’s plan would work and it made her feel sick because Jones might have been a fool but she wasn’t entirely sure he deserved this.

 

“Lady Blanchard, Miss Swan,” Mr Nolan said, bowing low when he reached them. His sandy hair was cropped short, unlike Jones’ over-the-top styling.

 

“Good afternoon, Mister Nolan,” Mary Margaret said, blushing prettily. She was incredibly unsubtle. If Emma hadn’t already known that the pair of them had a secret liaison, she would have worked it out pretty quickly just from the love-sick expression on her friend’s face. A child, grubbier than the sort one typically encountered in this area, brushed against Emma and she checked her reticule from any tears in the fabric but found none, her meagre amount of money still present.

 

“Are you shopping?” He was very pretty, Emma thought, but, looking at their location and the parcels in Mary Margaret’s hand, possible a tiny bit stupid.

 

“For ribbon,” Emma said after a moment, because Mary Margaret was looking at Mister Nolan from under her eyelashes and had failed to actually answer his question.

 

“Oh,” Mister Nolan said. “How wonderful.” He shifted from one hessian-booted foot to another. “Well, enjoy your shopping, ladies.”

 

Mary Margaret sighed, watching him walk away. Emma noted that her gaze was rather focused rather lower than the back of his head. “Shall we get tea?” she suggested. “I know I could rest my feet.”

 

It was when they were seated at a small table in the corner of a crowded tea room, a pot of tea and a plate of cakes between the two of them, that Mary Margaret finally spoke. “Oh, Miss Swan,” she said. “I can keep nothing from you. Your powers of discernment are such that you must have noticed!”

 

Emma played dumb, affecting a puzzled expression, eyebrows knitting together and lips forming a tight line. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“But surely you must have guessed!” she said. “I cannot help myself around him.”

 

“Who?” Emma asked.

 

“Mister Nolan and I, we are in love,” Mary Margaret whispered, before letting her eyes dart around the crowded space. The patrons of the tea rooms remained uninterested.

 

“Oh,” Emma said, taking a bite of cake. It tasted of citrus and she had to resist all her impulses telling her to shovel it into her mouth. “Well, good for you. Congratulations.”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret said darkly, voice still hushed. “It will never come to pass. My step-mama will never approve the match. David is a second son. He will not inherit a title or become a great man in society.”

 

Emma could not help but find Mary Margaret’s melodrama privately amusing. The Lady White she had encountered, while caustic, did not seem the sort to care overly much about titles. She had seen the way she was with her son and from that Emma firmly believed that, for Lady White, happiness was her primary motivator. “Have you spoken to her of this?”

 

“Oh, I can’t,” Mary Margaret said. “David, that is, Mister Nolan, says he shall ask her at the next assembly and I just lie awake at night, petrified of her reaction.”

 

“I am sure your step mother only wants your happiness,” Emma said, phrasing it carefully. After all, Mary Margaret did not know of the afternoon spent at the British Museum and it would not do to appear too knowledgeable of Lady White’s attitudes.

 

Mary Margaret shook her head. “When I was a little girl I destroyed her chance at happiness. She will stop at nothing to keep me from my happy ending.” And then she refused to say anything more, leaving Emma’s curiosity unsated.

 

Unable to convince Mary Margaret that her step mother was unlikely to be actively trying to ruin her life, Emma suggested they return to the carriage. “You have an engagement this evening,” she said, “and I am fatigued after all this shopping.”

 

Mary Margaret reluctantly let her out at the end of the street. Emma reached into her pocket of her pelisse, finding the note that had been left for her. The wrinkled, dingy paper read _five o’clock, the usual place_. Sighing, she walked around the corner, hailed a hackney carriage. “Saffron Hill, please,” she said and the carriage set off with a jolt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback so far! I hope you keep enjoying.


	7. In which Regina kidnaps Emma

Regina rested her head against the window pane of the carriage, exhausted after what had been a very full day. She had spent the best part of the afternoon with an old friend of her mother’s, drinking lukewarm tea and being force-fed stale shortbread. All this after a morning with Lord Spencer and his son, finalising the details of Mary Margaret’s engagement before James proposed in three days. She’d had to remove Spencer’s hand from her back and thigh several times. Mary Margaret was still in the dark about what she had arranged and it took all of Regina’s willpower to hold off on telling her. Revenge would be that much sweeter if she was taken by surprise. Her head ached and she just wanted to get home and soak for several hours in the bathtub.

 

The carriage had been stationary for several minutes before her driver opened the window separating them and poked his head through. “You mind if we take a long route?” he asked. “Only traffic’s at a stand-still.”

 

Regina nodded, waving a dismissive hand. “Do what you need to do.”

 

The shortcut took them through a less affluent area of London and Regina was relieved that it was still light out and that she had let Mary Margaret take the new carriage to go shopping; the secondary carriage, while sturdier, was several years out of style and had worn paintwork. It was less likely to stand out in this neighbourhood. As she continued to stare out the window, she spotted a familiar figure.

 

“Stop the carriage,” she said, rapping on the window between her and the driver. Obediently, he slowed the horses to a stop and looked into the carriage. “I will just be one moment,” she said.

 

“I really don’t think that’s wise, m’lady,” her driver said, his voice spiked with concern.

 

“No, it’s all right,” she said, tone brooking no further objections. “I have seen someone I know.”

 

“Here?” She couldn’t blame the driver for sounding dubious but she glared at him all the same, lines creasing between her eyebrows and lips pursing. “At least take the pistol.” He handed her the small pistol she insisted her drivers carried whenever they drove anywhere in case of highway men and she slipped it beneath her coat. Her father had taught her to shoot, the one useful skill he had imparted before his death. He had been a kind man, but weak and unwilling to fight with her mother over Cora’s expectations of their only child. Still, he had taught her to shoot and it had made her feel safer during those hideous years of marriage, knowing as she lay, pained and fighting back tears, underneath Leopold as he thrust and grunted atop her that she had options.

 

Quietly, so as not to attract attention, she stepped along the footpath. “…did you find anything?” she heard Miss Swan say to a shadowy figure. They were standing in an alley; the only reason Regina had noticed them at all was because of Miss Swan’s hair, glowing golden in the greying light.

 

“Nothing,” a husky male voice said. “He’s still keeping mum on that one.”

 

Miss Swan cursed. “Well, this was a waste of my time,” she said.

 

“Not completely,” the man replied, laughing, and there was a hint of lasciviousness in his voice that Regina hated.

 

“Neal,” Miss Swan said, warning. “Not this _again_ …”

 

“C’mon, Swan,” he said. “We were good together.”

 

“Well,” Regina said, white rage rising up and freezing her and consequently deciding it was high time she made herself known. “Isn’t this a touching scene?”

 

Emma turned and saw her and her face blanched white as one of Mary Margaret’s dresses. “Lady White. I – this isn’t…”

 

“I think I have a fair idea exactly what this is,” Regina said, raising an eyebrow. “Won’t you introduce me to your lover? We must always remember our manners, dear.”

 

For a moment, Miss Swan looked as though she might protest but then her shoulders sunk and her face slackened, lips turning downwards. “Lady White, this is Neal Cassidy,” she said, voice dull. “Neal, Lady White.”

 

“Pleasure,” Regina said, nose wrinkling and ignoring the outstretched hand. Of course this man didn’t know proper protocol for greeting a marchioness. She kept her gaze on Miss Swan who looked ready to throw up. “Miss Swan, if your business is concluded, you will come with me, please.”

 

Dumbly, she followed Regina to her carriage. When seated once more against the plush cushions, Miss Swan across from her, Regina pulled the pistol from beneath her coat. Miss Swan jumped back with a gasp. “You’re going to kill me?”

 

Regina just looked at her. “Idiot girl,” she said and passed the pistol back through to her driver. “Carry on. Miss Swan will be coming home with me.”

 

“Very good, m’lady,” he said and the carriage took off with a jolt, wheels clacking against the uneven road.

 

“All right,” Miss Swan said. “So you’re not planning to kill me. But you _are_ kidnapping me.” She was a tall woman but she appeared small now somehow, huddled into one corner of the carriage.

 

“I would simply like us to be in private before you explain exactly what you were doing with that man in this area.”

 

“And what makes you think I would tell you anything?” There was still a bit of fight in Miss Swan’s voice, in spite of the crushed posture.

 

“I have seen enough to utterly ruin your reputation, dear,” she said, lips curving into an evil smirk. “Providing me with an explanation may mean I keep my mouth shut.”

 

Miss Swan just nodded once. Regina observed her while her head was bowed; she looked utterly defeated, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. Her hair was falling loose from beneath her hat in bedraggled curls and her smart pelisse was flecked with mud at the hem. She found that the rage that had bubbled up in her was steadily washing away, which surprised her; she had never been one to let go of anger.

 

“It would not do for Mary Margaret to see you here,” she said when the carriage pulled up outside Regina’s lavish townhouse. “We will enter through the servant’s entrance. Follow me and do not attempt to slip away.” Miss Swan muttered something but followed Regina regardless. They managed to make it up to Regina’s private sitting room without being spotted, Henry busy with his early dinner, most of the household staff in the kitchens and Mary Margaret practising the pianoforte downstairs.

 

Regina’s maid was clearing her vanity, tidying brushes and wiping away powders and hair that had accumulated on the mahogany counter. “Alice, would you go to the kitchen and fetch tea? I have a guest. I need you to be discreet.”

 

Alice raised her eyebrows and helped Regina out of her coat, unpinned her hat and removed the silk scarf preserving her modesty at her breast, throwing them across the back of a chair. “A male guest?”

 

Any other servant would have been let go for a comment like that, but then no other servant had been there for Regina during her marriage. Alice had often hinted that she should take a lover and, in her darkest period of her marriage, she had almost considered it. “A woman, dear, I’m afraid,” she said.

 

“Oh,” Alice said, disappointment flashing across her features before she schooled her face into a more appropriately neutral look.

 

“Give up, Alice,” she said, stifling a laugh. “It is never going to happen.”

 

“I’ll just get that tea then, m’lady,” Alice said and bustled out of the room.

 

Regina returned to her sitting room, finding Emma seated in a hard-backed chair in one corner, staring at the hands twisted on her lap. “How was your shopping expedition with Mary Margaret?” she asked pleasantly. The brief conversation with Alice had calmed her.

 

Emma just stared at her, those hazel eyes large and doleful. “And now you’re toying with me.”

 

“Well, yes,” Regina said. “But also, I’m starving and my maid will be up shortly with tea and she’s curious enough as it is without being given more fuel for that fire.” She sat on the chaise lounge and draped one arm along the back of it.

 

There was a moment’s silence and then Miss Swan spoke. “Mary Margaret bought ribbon.”

 

“Oh, good,” Regina said. “I am so pleased I did not have to spend an hour in a haberdashery with her, choosing between different shades of yellow.”

 

Miss Swan’s lips quirked and Regina felt a strange sense of joy at having almost made her smile. Alice knocked on the door and entered with a tray, laden with tea and an assortment of pastries. Regina noticed how Miss Swan’s eyes zeroed in on the food with longing. “Will that be all?” Alice asked, sneaking glances at the blonde in the corner.

 

“Thank you, Alice. Please lay out my new navy silk for tonight’s assembly.” Thus dismissed, Regina waved her guest over. “Sit closer to the tea things, dear. That chair is hideously uncomfortable.” Reluctantly and with sluggish movements, Miss Swan gravitated closer, sitting on the sofa across from Regina, who passed her a cup of tea. “Do try one of the pastries. My chef in town is Parisian and his pastry is simply divine.”

 

She took a pastry, inspected it carefully, and took a bite. She moaned at the taste and Regina found herself drawn to a flake of pastry attached to her lower lip. “So,” Miss Swan said when she had finished the pastry and drunk a large portion of her tea. “What do you want from me?”

 

“The truth,” Regina said. “Why were you in Saffron Hill?”

 

Miss Swan sighed. “I was meeting Neal Cassidy. He’s been helping me look for something I lost a long time ago.”

 

“And how does a young, innocent heiress know a man like this Cassidy?”

 

“I can’t,” Miss Swan said. Rather than the defeated look to which Regina had become used over the past half an hour, her eyes widened and she looked around wildly for escape; a wild rabbit cornered by a fox. “He’ll kill me…”

 

There was something endearingly lost about her and Regina found herself pitying the girl, in spite of her obvious indiscretions. “Dear, I will not tell anyone. I know all too well the damage a spilled secret can wreak.” The last was said rather bitterly for it was Mary Margaret’s inability to keep a secret that had cost Regina her one chance at happiness. She pushed the past from her mind and focused on the woman sitting before her who still looked frantic.

 

“How can I trust you?” Miss Swan asked, her voice small and childish.

 

“You can’t,” Regina said, shifting on the chaise. “But I can ruin you either way. You might as well show me some good will.”

 

Emma took two deep breaths. Her jaw shook with tension. “Do you know Mr Gold?”

 

Regina nodded. Gold had been a contemporary of her mother. He had frequently been at dinners hosted by her parents when she was too young to eat with company, and she knew he had done some business with her father from time to time. She had only spoken to him once, however; standing by the fountains at some grand estate or other during a ball where no one asked her to dance because of Leopold. Eventually she had grown tired of sitting at the side, smile pasted on her face. She had been trying desperately not to cry because she had been married for three months and it was making her so miserable she wanted to die.

 

“Ah, Lady White,” he had said, approaching her. “I’m Mr Gold. I knew your mother.”

 

“I know,” she had said, taking in a deep gulping breath to calm her nerves. “I have seen you at my parents’ home before.”

 

“You are not happy.” Regina had sniffed and said nothing because there was nothing to say. Gold had continued, his Scottish brogue silky. “You feel powerless. I can help.” One finger had grazed up her bare arm.

 

“I don’t want power,” she had snapped, jerking away from him. She had turned down his help that night and avoided him ever since but had often wondered what he had meant and where she would be now had she not. Knowing her mother’s tactics, she suspected Leopold would not have died of a heart attack, but of something rather more sinister.

 

“I’m not an heiress,” Miss Swan said, stumbling over her words, the confident façade Regina had come to associate with her now completely broken. “I’m not anything really. I’m an orphan. I ran away from school at fifteen, lived in bedsits and occasionally on the streets. I took up with Neal when I was sixteen.” She paused. “He did stuff to make money that wasn’t strictly speaking legal but we loved each other. It didn’t matter that we weren’t married I thought.”

 

Regina remembered herself at sixteen, still a child in so many ways. Ill-treated by her mother and not protected by her father, but clothed and sheltered and given horses and books and sheet music. At sixteen she had still thought she could have anything, be anyone, marry for love.

 

Eighteen was when she grew up.

 

“Neal is Gold’s son – estranged. Gold found him and me. He has been keeping tabs on me ever since, helping pay for what I needed to survive. I’ve helped him out with a few things over the years, things like tracking people down or getting information. Nothing illegal. Just people didn’t notice me hanging around the place so I could be useful to him. But this is the big con. He wants revenge on Jones.”

 

“You flirting with him is certainly a terrifying form of revenge,” Regina said dryly.

 

“I’m supposed to engage myself to him, destroy him and then jilt him,” Miss Swan said. Her manner was matter-of-fact, but Regina could tell she was struggling with it. She suspected that in spite of everything, Miss Swan was a rather ethical woman.

 

Regina just nodded. “I see.”

 

Miss Swan looked up from her hands for the first time since she had started speaking. “So can I go now? Only, if you’re planning on spreading this around the ton, I need to disappear, and quickly.”

 

“Emma,” Regina said, sliding to sit beside her and meeting her eyes. She used her Christian name for the first time because it was the only way she could think of to show Emma she was serious. “I promise I will keep your secret.”

 

Emma looked at her with fear in her eyes. “But why?”

 

“Because I know what it’s like to feel like you have no choice,” Regina said. She clasped Emma’s hand, free of gloves, and felt a strange thrill at the touch of bare skin. It had been too long since she’d touched anyone’s naked hand, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the hand itself.

 

When Regina’s thumb rubbed against the skin of Emma’s hand, she burst into tears, sobbing into her free hand and her upper body curled in on itself like Henry when he was scared or upset. Because Regina’s usual approach of scooping Henry up into her lap and rubbing his back wasn’t going to work with someone taller than her, she simply sat there, holding Emma’s hand, and watched until she calmed down. “Does it feel good to get that out?” she asked.

 

Emma nodded, jerking her hand away from Regina, and fishing into her reticule for a handkerchief. “I need to go,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Gold will wonder where I’ve been.”

 

It was when she had left, insisting on walking back to Gold’s home, that Regina realised she had never asked what it was Emma was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support with this story. The comments mean a lot to me, please keep them coming!
> 
> (PS I could not for the life of me find information about dodgy areas of Regency London and then I got tired so let's pretend Neal's the Artful Dodger)


	8. In which the evil step-mother ruins things for her step-daughter

“You look beautiful,” Belle said, twisting one of the golden curls framing Emma’s face around her finger and letting it spring back.

 

Emma frowned. She was dressed in a green silk gown, the neckline cut low and the fabric embroidered with a floral motif. The embroidery made her neck and décolletage itch and she had to fight to urge to scratch at it. The last thing she needed was ugly red marks rather than her pale skin, one of her best assets. “Thank you, I suppose,” she said, though she knew she sounded doubtful. She had been invited to a card party at Lord and Lady Midas’ grand town house. Gold had found out Jones would be there and had accepted on her behalf. He had a prior engagement, for which Emma was extremely grateful.

 

She had spent the week trying to forget about the fact that Lady White could destroy her at any time she chose but it had been impossible. She was going to have to find out something about the woman that could equally ruin her should the word get out; mutually assured destruction.

 

She had also spent the week trying desperately to forget about the delicate touch of Lady White’s (or Regina as she’d privately begun thinking of her) hand against her own, the throaty softness of her voice when she had called Emma by her Christian name, the surprising sympathy and honesty in her eyes. The woman had the power to destroy her; she couldn’t think too fondly of her.

 

She’d felt these strange flutterings before – a girl at boarding school who she had idolised had made her feel giddy and giggly, a woman who had taken her in when she was down to her last pennies had made bubbles of warmth percolate in her belly – but she didn’t have a name for them and they generally went away with a little time and distance. She had been trying to ignore them since she had first met Regina and now it was more important than ever.

 

“Are you ready to go?” Belle asked and Emma nodded, gathering her cloak and pushing all thoughts of Regina from her mind.

 

She arrived at the card party, held in the Pantheon Assembly Rooms and immediately attached herself to Jones’ group, leaving Belle, once again playing chaperone, with a friend of hers. “Miss Swan,” Jones said, bowing. The points of his collars were heavily starched and she knew that the guinea slipped to his valet had been worth it when she saw that his waistcoat did indeed match the fabric of her dress.

 

“Sir Jones,” she said and allowed him to take her hand and lead her to sit down. “It appears we are matching.”

 

“Quite a compliment to you, Miss Swan,” he said, puffing out his chest. “My reputation in fashion is second only to Mr Brummel.”

 

Emma fought back a laugh at his vanity and searched her mind for an alternative topic of conversation. “How is the boat?” Jones had just bought a ship, which he had been unreasonably excited about, though as far as she knew he had never actually sailed before.

 

“She’s a beauty,” he said, eyes clouding over and smiling fondly, more fondly than she’d ever seen him smile over a woman. “One day I shall sail her to the Mediterranean.”

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Emma breathed. It was true; sailing around the Mediterranean sounded like a dream. However, she was not so convinced that the travelling companion would be quite as wonderful. How on earth would Jones, with his predilection for ridiculous outfits and pride over his haircut, cope with salt water and limited bathing?

 

“Perhaps…” he said, head tilted to one side in contemplation, but he was interrupted.

 

“We aren’t intruding, are we?” said a husky voice from above Emma’s head. Regina.

“Course not, Lady White,” Jones said affably. “Do join us.”

 

Emma turned and felt her breath catch in her throat momentarily. Regina was terrifyingly beautiful, dark hair coiled around her head and emeralds at her ears and throat. She smiled malevolently at the pair. “Lady White, a pleasure. Mrs Lucas, I believe we met last week,” Emma said.

 

“I remember, girl,” Mrs Lucas said, gimlet eyes glinting. Regina’s gaze flicked between the two of them, amused. Emma nodded; Mrs Lucas reminded her of the matrons at school, strict and old-fashioned and possibly likely to wallop Emma with a ruler for being a bad child.

 

Jones stood and pulled out a chair for each lady. Regina, ignoring him entirely, sat, fixing up the dark fabric of her skirts and meeting Emma’s eyes across the table. Emma desperately tried to keep panic from her expression, though she wasn’t sure she succeeded entirely because Regina’s smile was nothing short of evil, her lips plump and red and curved into a smirk. “And how are you, Miss Swan?”

 

“Well, thank you,” Emma said, endeavouring to be polite though she really wanted to pick up her skirts, kick off the ridiculous silk slippers and run as far away from here as possible.

 

“We had hoped to play Whist,” Mrs Lucas said. “Any objections?” Her eyes fell on Emma, as though she expected her to be the one to kick up a fuss.

 

“Brilliant,” Emma said, picking up the pack of cards and shuffling expertly. They drew cards and, irritatingly, Emma ended up paired with Regina, Jones shrugging at her before moving to sit closer to Mrs Lucas. Round after round, she and Regina trounced the pair. The consequences of several years of living amongst less savoury characters meant that one became pretty quick at cards and Lady White was no slouch herself. But she kept making these comments.

 

“Miss Swan, you have quite misled us as to your skills. Are you sure you do not have some past life as a con artist?”

Emma felt her face flush red; she balled her spare hand up under the table, feeling her fingernails dig into the skin of her palm. “When did I mislead you, Lady White? I have never claimed to be a poor card player.”

 

“You never told us you were an expert, however,” Regina said, raising an eyebrow and smiling, triumphant in their win. “Omission is a form of untruth, dear.”

 

They played another round in the same teams and Regina was smug as anything when they won again. “It is certainly lucky we are not playing for money, my dear Killian,” she said, his name tripping off her tongue as though she had had a lifetime of experience saying it. Emma supposed she might have done. The pair certainly could have run in the same circles since her youth. “Miss Swan would be well on her way to ruining you.” Jones smiled politely and Mrs Lucas let out a bark of a laugh.

 

Emma stood. “Excuse me,” she said and swept towards the powder room. She sat in the lavish lavatory, head in her hands, whole body trembling, whether with anger or distress, she wasn’t quite sure. Her head ached. She had been so close and then Lady White had shown up and ruined everything.

 

“Miss Swan?” It was Regina’s voice from outside the door.

 

Emma stood, opening the door, taking two deep breaths and exiting. “Lady White,” she replied, a chill in her voice.

 

“Are you quite well?”

 

Emma strode towards her. “No,” she said. “I’m not. It seemed like you cared, last week, when...” She paused, bit her tongue. “And then you spend the evening _mocking_ me.”

 

Regina shrugged. “I said I wouldn’t tell,” she said. “I never said I wouldn’t poke a little fun at your expense. I can guarantee Jones did not comprehend my meaning.”

 

“This is my life,” Emma hissed. “You can poke fun all you like but you get to go home to your beautiful house and your adorable son at the end of the night. If I don’t do this, I get nothing. I have nothing.”

 

Regina snarled, Emma obviously having hit a weakness. “You made a choice, Miss Swan. Just like anyone else, every choice you make has a price.” Her cheeks were flushed red with anger and she bridged the gap between them, her breath hot on Emma’s cheek.

 

“You think I don’t know that? You think i haven’t thought about the prices I paid for my choices every day?” Neal swam in her mind, the futile conversation of the week prior. It seemed impossible that she would ever recover what she had lost. “What happened to ‘Regina’?” she asked, voice softer and plaintive, and Regina withdrew as though she had been slapped, sitting on the long, velvet couch placed against one wall designed to give women a place to gossip while they checked their hair. All of a sudden, she appeared vulnerable, eyes shimmering and lips downturned.

 

Emma sat beside her, nudging her side with her elbow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m wound pretty tight at the moment. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

 

“No,” Regina said. Emma waited for her to apologise for her own actions, but it seemed like that was never going to come. “I did deliberately try and rile you up though, which probably wasn’t fair.”

 

“Why?” Emma asked.

 

“You said last week that you’re playing a role,” Regina said. “What do you think I have done every day I am in London? Be careful, Miss Swan. Sometimes you get to the point where you can’t turn it off.” She brushed a hand against Emma’s cheek and it scorched like fire. “I like you, Miss Swan. I wouldn’t like to see you change for good.” She stood and swept out of the powder room, leaving Emma alone.

 

*

 

The next day, Mary Margaret Blanchard turned up on Gold’s doorstep, face stained with tears.

Emma, who had been just about to go out for a walk, was pulling on gloves as she clattered down the stairs. “Hullo!” she said, surprised, as the girl brushed past Gold’s butler and fell into Emma’s arms, weeping uncontrollably. “What’s wrong, honey?” She guided Mary Margaret to a small parlour where they were reasonably unlikely to be disturbed by anyone but Belle and sat her down on a comfortable sofa.

 

It took a full five minutes of sobbing prettily (because of course Mary Margaret looked beautiful when she cried when Emma always looked a blotchy mess) before Mary Margaret could even get words out. “My step-mama has arranged a marriage for me,” she said, between gulps of air.

 

Emma froze, heart pounding. “With whom?” she asked.

 

“James Nolan,” Mary Margaret said. She turned her watery brown eyes to Emma.

 

Emma’s mind ticked over. There was such a wonderful cruelty in wedding a girl off to the twin brother of her lover. If she’d had any thoughts suspecting that Regina simply didn’t know that Mary Margaret was in love, they had dissipated the moment Mary Margaret named her husband-to-be. “Perhaps,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction, “Lady White simply did not know you love his younger brother.”

 

“Oh, but she does,” Mary Margaret said. “She told me I was far too high in society to be marrying the second son of an earl who will never amount to anything. I don’t care if David never does amount to anything. I love him. She just laughed.”

 

Emma could well imagine. “What did you say to Lord Nolan’s proposal?”

 

“I said no. I would rather die than marry him!” Mary Margaret said.

 

She privately suspected that when it came down to it, Mary Margaret would not rather die. Humans on the whole were rather too keen to live. She would be miserable for a time, yes, but death seemed unlikely. It was a cruel play from Regina and it worried Emma that she had resorted to it. She settled on saying, “Oh, sweetheart,” and patting Mary Margaret on the back while the sobbing started again with renewed vigour.

 

“I know she hates me,” she said. “I know I’m not her real daughter but Henry is not her real son and she loves him so dearly. I could bear anything if I thought she was actually doing this because she loved me.”

 

“Not her real son?” Emma asked, latching on to the one part of Mary Margaret’s garbled speech that interested her. Was this something she could use?

 

“She adopted him,” Mary Margaret said. “She fought for him, in spite of Papa’s resistance. She has never once fought for me and I know it’s because I ruined her life but I love her so much.” She burst into a fresh round of tears.

 

What had Mary Margaret done to inspire such vitriol in her step-mother?

 

“Lord Nolan is a gambler and a womanizer and it is clear he only wishes to marry me for my money,” Mary Margaret said when she had finally calmed down. “I will keep saying ‘no’. Step-mama cannot force me to say ‘I do’.” There was an obstinate set to her jaw that Emma had never seen before and for the first time Emma suspected that Regina might have found a worthy adversary in her step-daughter. Mary Margaret might behave like a simpering damsel, but she had backbone. She grabbed her reticule and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Thank you, Emma darling. Your support means the world to me.”

 

Emma felt she hadn’t done anything in particular to deserve this praise but merely smiled in what she hoped was a comforting manner and said, “it will all be all right in the end.”

 

But when Mary Margaret had left and Emma had stepped out of the house to take a much delayed stroll, she could not help but feel troubled, thinking about Regina’s cruelty – a side to her she could not like – and her son, Henry, who must have been adopted at much the same time as Emma’s own child was taken from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this makes no sense - I wrote most of this with the flu/a really bad head cold and I just give up on trying to edit anymore.


	9. In which Regina bares her body and bares her soul

 

Regina sighed as Mary Margaret stormed from the room for the fifth time in so many days. She was being troublingly belligerent about this engagement. Regina had never known the girl to exhibit so much backbone and, as pleasing as it was to have an actual argument with the loathed child for once rather than have to deal with her passive obeisance, it was frustrating that nothing was going as planned. Regina liked her plans. They made sense to her.

 

So a new plan formed. She strode out of the drawing room and down to the housekeeper.

 

“Pack our trunks,” Regina told the housekeeper. “We are removing to the country for a time.” Until Mary Margaret comes to her senses, she thought, so possibly forever. The elderly woman, dressed in black and back stiff and straight as a ruler, simply nodded before barking out orders to a footman and several maids. Regina left her to it.

 

Then she pulled on a spencer and bonnet and traipsed the brief journey – only several streets – to Mr Gold’s townhouse. “Ah, Lady White,” he said, looking up from a pile of papers on his desk when she entered his study. “Welcome. Sit down.” His smile did not reach his eyes and she shivered. He had gained weight in the ten years since she had last seen him, his face paunchier. His increased wealth obviously agreed with him. She remained standing. She needed every advantage against him.

 

“I need Miss Swan,” she said. Gold raised an eyebrow and she just barely resisted the urge to scowl or roll her eyes – neither of which would help her case. “Her assistance, I mean. My step-daughter is refusing the match I have made for her so we are retiring to Derbyshire for the remainder of the Season – or until she accepts the offer, whichever comes first. I know she and Miss Swan have become good friends. I am hoping she may talk some sense into my daughter.”

 

“My ward is needed in town,” Gold said. His smile again sent a chill running through her and she pitied Emma for dealing with him and admired her strength.

 

“I will, of course, be inviting other people to stay. I had thought perhaps the Locksleys and Sir Jones. We grew up together, you know. I was good friends with dear Liam. So sad that he died.” Regina prattled on deliberately. It wouldn’t do for Gold to see her as intelligent; he might realise that she knew more than she really should.

 

She could see the wheels in Gold’s head turning, seeing this chance for Emma to be alone with Jones without any of the competition of the young ladies of the ton. “Very well, Lady White. I will send Emma to you in two days. She may stay a fortnight at most.”

 

Regina did not bother asking if he wanted to check with Emma about this, simply inclining her head and departing. There was much to do – packing, writing invitations to a weekend soiree, stopping Mary Margaret from running off to see Ruby Lucas or, worse, Mr Nolan before they left – if she wanted to get to her little estate by tomorrow.

 

The next day, the carriages were packed and they made their way to Derbyshire. The ride would have been terribly uncomfortable if not for Henry, who was so excited about returning to the freedom of the country house that he chattered ceaselessly until they arrived. “And Mama, may I ride with you? Can we have tea in the garden?”

 

“Yes, dear,” she said. Though too young to really ride himself, Henry had been riding with Regina since he was four. She rode Rocinante for the purpose, walking the horse around the field with a hand clutched around his waist as Henry bounced in the saddle and giggled and yelled “faster! Faster!”

 

Henry sighed happily. “I love the country,” he said. “Don’t you, Mary Marg’ret?”

 

Mary Margaret stared out the window of the carriage, face pale and wan, and did not answer him.

 

By the time they arrived, all Regina wanted was a bath, a hearty meal and to fall into a deep sleep until at least mid-morning but she lay awake plagued with thoughts of Emma Swan. She would be here tomorrow – or perhaps the following day – and Regina still couldn’t sort her reasons for wanting her there. The pragmatic side of her brain told her that Emma owed her and could be a big help with Mary Margaret. Her step-daughter looked up to Emma and it was entirely possible that if Emma encouraged her to do as Regina asked, Mary Margaret might actually be persuaded. Simmering below that, however, was a desire Regina had to save Emma, even if only for fourteen days. She had not lied to Gold; Jones would be coming to stay. But her invitation had only been for a weekend. That allowed Emma twelve blissful days of freedom.

 

The truth was, she wanted Emma to be happy. She had not wished happiness on anyone besides Henry since her marriage to Leopold and it alarmed her. Eventually she fell into a restless sleep, though even her dreams were plagued with visions of Emma.

 

The next day, after a morning of organising the household after their weeks away, she snuck past Henry’s room, where he was recreating a battle against Napoleon with alarming precision using an assortment of tin soldiers and brightly coloured blocks, and made her way to the stables. She had dressed in her secret riding breeches and a soft, pale blue jacket cut in a masculine style and spent some time with Rocinante, the faithful old steed too old to ride at more than a walk but still absolutely beloved. Her last groom had suggested he be put down, too old to be of any use and she had him fired. She rubbed him down, stroking his glossy coat, his flanks rippling as she brushed them. “Hello, my darling,” she murmured and he nickered, butting his nose into her shoulder. She held out a cube of sugar in the flat of her palm and laughed at his tongue tickling her palm.

 

Then she mounted her current horse, a spirited mare named Elinor that her groom had purchased the year before. She rode astride, wind whipping her braid into her face, and for the first time in weeks she did not have to be worried about whether she was smiling too broadly or if the way she held her head gave her a second chin or anything at all. There was just her and the horse and the wind and nature, not another soul for miles around.

 

The sky began to grey, signalling it was time to return to the stables and reluctantly she steered Elinor back towards home and her responsibilities. Still the ride had rejuvenated her and she smiled when she handed Elinor over to the stable boy to rub down and feed.

 

She walked from the stables to find Emma standing by the fence separating the gardens from the fields, eyes fixed on her. For once, Regina could not read her expression and she found it disconcerting but then she brushed down her trousers, coated in a layer of clinging horse hair, and noticed the way Emma’s eyes followed her hands, staring at Regina’s thighs, encased in tight fabric. It was a look she had seen on the face of the one other person who had ever seen her in breeches, admiring and lustful all at once, and she felt her face grow warm.

 

“Miss Swan, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked, covering her confusion with spiky words.

 

“You invited me,” Emma said, her voice flat. She didn’t meet Regina’s eyes but stared at a point just over her left shoulder. “Did I really have a choice in the matter?”

 

“I meant at the stables,” Regina said.

 

“Oh,” Emma said, shrugging. “I was told you were riding and I hoped to catch you alone.”

 

“You got your wish, dear,” Regina said, and she could hear the seductive purr in her voice and didn’t know how to turn it off. She hoped Emma simply read it as her usual voice because anything else would be too humiliating for words. Regina certainly did not allow herself to get carried away by base emotions, let alone ones of which society would not approve.

 

“Why am I here?” Emma asked. Regina’s eyes swept down, past the simple, blue checked gown to her hands, balled in fists at her side.

 

“I had hoped you could help me,” Regina said, smiling.

 

“No,” Emma said. “I am not helping you convince Mary Margaret to marry James Nolan.”

 

“You owe me, Miss Swan,” Regina said and regretted the words the moment they left her mouth because Emma’s nostrils flared and spots of bright pink appeared in her cheeks.

 

“Do tell me,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do I owe you for? Is it kidnapping me and forcing me to tell you my secret? Is it for then mocking me with that information in front of an audience, including the man I am required to seduce? Is it for going behind my back to force me out of the city and to your estate where I will be at your mercy all day, every day? I spend enough time being someone’s pawn. I do not deserve to be yours as well.”

 

Regina shook at the venom in her words though she straightened her spine and sneered all the same. “Very well, Miss Swan. I hope you come to your senses before my guests arrive on the weekend.” Without looking back, she stormed into the house. “Alice, a bath,” she ordered when safely ensconced in her dressing room, unbuttoning her jacket and loosening the buttons at the neck of her shirt, suddenly far too constricting, while Alice called for the footmen, who dragged in buckets of steaming water to the porcelain tub while Regina stewed.

 

“Are you well?” Alice asked, taking the jacket and hanging it.

 

“Fine,” Regina snapped and was penitent a moment later. “It’s nothing you can help me with, dear. I apologise.”

 

Alice, well used to her mistress’s moods, simply smiled and pulled out a gown. “This for dinner?” Regina dressed simply in the country when she did not have company, dark linens and muslins with little trimming and cut to allow for ample movement. She wanted to spend her days active and running after Henry, not sitting in a drawing room. She nodded.

 

When the footmen poured the last bucket of water into her tub there was a knock at Regina’s bedroom door. “Yes?” she barked out.

 

Alice disappeared into the bedroom. “It is Miss Swan,” she said, on her return. “Shall I ask her to leave?”

 

“No.” Regina sighed. “Let her in.” She sat at her vanity, fiddling with the sleeves of her shirt, loose and translucent, and coiling her braid atop her head, pinning it in place.

 

“Lady White,” Emma said, standing in front of her. She had an almost masculine stance, shoulders back, feet apart, and she met Regina’s gaze with almost insolent confidence. “I do not believe our conversation was finished.”

 

“Oh?” Regina said, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Lady White, your bath is ready,” Alice said.

 

“Thank you, Alice,” Regina said. “I will ring for you if I need more hot water.” Alice left, darting a curious glance at Emma as she did so and closing the door behind her.

 

“As you can see, Miss Swan, I am planning on bathing. You are welcome to stay of course and finish our conversation.” There was a challenge in her voice.

 

“Fine,” Emma said, crossing her arms. He lips formed a sharp line.

 

Regina stood. The small tub sat in one corner, a screen at the ready for privacy, but she ignored it. “Do take a seat, dear,” she said, and Emma perched on the edge of the stool before her vanity. It was a terrible, awful, foolish idea, but she couldn’t help herself. Emma was attracted to her, she was almost certain of it, and as strange as that felt there was something powerful about it. She pulled off her boots and stockings, wriggling her toes with the sudden freedom. She stood again, unlacing her breeches and pulling them down, smirking when Emma’s eyes once more drifted to her thighs.

 

“There’s a screen,” Emma said, roses beginning to bloom on her cheeks.

 

“Dear, I’m an old widow, of no import to anyone,” Regina said. “Besides, once you’ve been bedded thrice weekly by an ancient, foolish sot, modesty doesn’t seem quite so important.” She kept her tone light, belying the pain those memories brought with them.

 

Emma snorted but Regina relished the flush in her cheeks. She was strong though, meeting Regina’s gaze and holding it, her hazel eyes hooded. “You make it sound like you’re a contemporary of Mrs Lucas.” There was a husky tone in her voice; part anger, part lust.

 

Regina laughed and maintained the eye contact before slipping the billowing white shirt over her head. She stood for a moment – completely naked and brown nipples hard in the frigid air – and watched with some satisfaction as Emma’s hands reflexively clenched and unclenched at her sides and her chest rose and fell just a touch quicker. Then she turned to the tub and slipped into the heat of the bath, resting her head against the porcelain rim.

 

“So,” she said, after basking a brief moment in the perfumed water. “We still had to talk.”

 

“What?” Emma said and then flushed almost purple, shaking her head. “I mean, yes. I’m not going to talk Mary Margaret into an unhappy marriage, however much you think I _owe_ you.”

 

“Pity,” Regina drawled. “It would be so delicious for me.”

 

“Why?” Emma asked, plaintive. “She just wants you to love her. Why do you hate her so much?”

 

Perhaps it was the warm water relaxing her and removing the locks on her heart or perhaps it was Emma’s voice. “She destroyed my happiness,” Regina said.

 

“She told me that much. Can you be more specific?”

 

“His name was Daniel,” Regina said, voice quavering at his name. “He was a stable boy at my parent’s estate and he was kind and decent and loving. He taught me to ride, even secretly teaching me to ride astride because I asked him to. I fell in love with him. We snuck around, picnics in the woods that surrounded my parent’s land, swimming in the lake…” He had been so gentle. They had never gone much beyond a few kisses – something she had always regretted when the only touch she knew was Leopold’s – but she remembered the press of his lips against hers and the quiet touch of his hands on her body like he was still here with her.

 

Emma sat in silence, watching Regina intently. “One day when we were sitting in the shade of an oak tree, I saw a runaway horse.” She told Emma of how Mary Margaret’s horse had bolted, her clinging on for dear life, and Regina had rescued her. “She was a gorgeous child,” she said. “Sweet and generous and so in love with me. It was flattering.”

 

“She still is,” Emma murmured.

 

“The next thing I knew, we were packing up the estate for my first Season in London and two weeks later Mary Margaret’s father had proposed. Mother accepted.” She fell silent, picking up the bar of soap and lathering her body. “Daniel had come to town with us. Father did not trust anyone else with our horses. We snuck out each night, met in the gardens and talked, kissed… The night he proposed, Mary Margaret caught us. I begged her to say nothing and she promised.” She spat the last word out bitterly.

 

“She was a child,” Emma said.

 

“She wanted me as a mother so much she was willing to break a promise she had made,” Regina said fiercely. “My mother manipulated the truth out of her. Daniel and I barely got beyond the outskirts of London before men caught up with us. Daniel was challenged…” She stopped, throat choked.

 

“A duel,” Emma breathed. “Oh, Regina.”

 

“I married Leopold three weeks later.”

 

She became aware that Emma had moved from the stool, could feel her warm breath on her cheek and then her hand was on Regina’s bare back and that touch destroyed her utterly. Regina burst into tears, the salt mixing with the tepid water of her bath. She had been unclothed in front of Emma, but it was only now that she felt naked.

 

“I’m still not helping you destroy Mary Margaret,” Emma said and Regina barked out a watery laugh.

 

“Pass me my dressing gown, dear,” she said. Emma handed it to her and Regina stood, wrapping it around herself and sitting at her vanity, unravelling her hair from its braid and brushing out her hair. “You know, I didn’t bring you here to help me, not really,” she said, staring at her reflection in the glass, Emma standing behind her, hands clutched in front of her.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I wanted to…” She paused. Her eyes were still red rimmed and her hand shook. “I wanted to rescue you.”

 

“But you invited Jones?”

 

“For two days. The only way I could get Gold to let you come. The other twelve are yours, Emma, to do with as you choose.” And now it was Emma whose eyes watered and who stuttered out her thanks as though Regina had given her an inexpressibly precious gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so historically inaccurate, I cannot even. Enjoy though! I've been loving the comments so thanks so much.
> 
> Also, edited because my brain decided that Regina's maid was called Lucy this chapter for some reason.


	10. In which there is an incident at an old mine

Emma lay on the blanket in the full sunlight, not caring that her pale skin would most likely turn pink and freckle. She couldn’t remember a time she had ever felt more content. In the distance, Henry dashed about; he was pretending to be a pirate, complete with wooden sword and the occasional yell as he stabbed a tree or on one memorable occasion, his mother. Emma, who had still been watching him then, would have expected Regina to be angry but she just screeched and melodramatically fell to the grass. Henry, concerned, bent over her to check she was all right and was pulled down with her. “Mama!” he had exclaimed, outraged, as she attacked him, tickling his stomach and under his arms.

 

The sun was too bright even with her hat shading her face and she let her eyes fall shut, the warmth stroking her skin.

 

She had seen another different side to Regina the past two days. She seemed to have shed a layer of sarcasm and reserve along with her elegant town wardrobe and, although they had not talked since the incident in the bath beyond pleasantries, Emma was left confused. Was Regina really the evil step-mother Mary Margaret now proclaimed her to be every moment they were alone or simply the young woman mourning her dead fiancé and loving her son? For her part, Emma was inclined to think the latter. Grief made everyone behave irrationally. Surely she would realise she was being unjust before it was too late. She hoped.

 

She also couldn’t help her mind drifting to her baser instincts. Regina’s body. Truly, Regina was a special brand of evil. As she dozed in the afternoon sun, her mind spun with images of smooth skin, darker than Emma’s but much clearer, because Emma had the tendency to freckle. She dreamed of the velvety touch of that skin, pressed against her own, and the feel of that thick dark hair coiled through her fingers and the sound of that voice, hoarse with lust, whispering, “Emma,” hot breath tickling her ear. Her body throbbed and she felt a shudder run through her.

 

When she woke it was to Regina’s voice, but she sounded frantic. “Miss Swan!”

 

She sat up, blinking in the sudden light and stretching her arms out in front of her. “What?” she grizzled before remembering how hideously rude that was. “Sorry.”

 

“Where’s Henry?” Regina snapped.

 

Emma frowned. Last she’d seen, Henry had still been playing in the garden; she had fallen asleep to the sound of his racket fading. “I don’t know. I drifted off. Weren’t you here?”

 

“I was needed indoors,” she said. “It took longer than anticipated. When I returned he had just… disappeared.” She wrung her hands, her face laced with apprehension. Emma noted the tremor in her voice.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Emma said, desperate to placate, to do anything to make this all right for Regina. “He’s probably up a tree somewhere, pretending it’s a pirate ship.”

 

Regina’s face eased for a moment, a smile playing across her features. Then, she seemed to remember something because she let out a cry of horror. “The mine!”

 

Emma screwed up her face. “Pardon?”

 

“There’s an abandoned mine on the property. We rode by it yesterday and Henry was fascinated by the tunnelled entrance. I said that we could stop and see it one day but he kept talking about it.” She took off at a run, Emma following close behind.

 

“Calm down,” Emma said, cursing the skirts constricting her movement and yanking them up to her knees. “You don’t know that he’ll be there.”

 

“I know my son,” Regina retorted. “He will be. Oh God.” She collapsed on the grass, breaths coming out in short, panicked gasps.

 

Emma clasped her under her arms and heaved her to her feet, feeling her delicate frame in her hands. “Come on, Regina. You can fall apart when it’s all over.”

 

Regina took one last, deep breath, pushed Emma’s hands away and strode forward, across the uneven ground of the field. The mine was fifteen minutes away, the entrance poorly boarded over by a couple of planks but with enough space for a small boy to squeeze through. At the entrance Emma saw something that made her heart sink. Henry’s wooden sword. Regina swayed against Emma. “Sit down,” Emma said, practically pushing her onto a nearby boulder.

 

“I have to go after him,” Regina said, scrabbling back up.

 

Emma looked her over. Despite the apparent simplicity of her attire, even Emma could recognise the quality of the fabrics. She was wearing neat little kid boots, heeled to make her seem taller. Her chest heaved from the brief run; this was a woman unused to heavy lifting or hard labour. “No,” Emma said firmly. “I will.”

 

“He’s _my_ son,” Regina said and there was desperation in her voice, her tone harsh and shaky.

 

“I know,” Emma said. “Which is why you need to stay safe. If something goes wrong, I don’t matter.”

 

“Emma…” Regina said, but Emma moved towards the entrance, pulled at one of the planks, which fell away easily enough, half-rotten and poorly nailed. She squeezed through the gap, now large enough for her to fit through, and looked back, smiling at Regina, attempting to exude a confidence she definitely did not feel. She had to find the little boy and her heart clawed and ached at the idea that it could already be too late.

 

The tunnel of the mine was crumbling in places, a steady drizzle of grit fell on her head. She touched the side, cool stone under her fingers, and shivered. She followed the line of the track, tripping once and tearing her skirt, wishing she had Regina’s breeches, or that she had thought to tear off the skirt of her gown to the knee or perhaps that she had been wearing boots with sturdier soles rather than the rather flimsy slippers that were blistering and bruising her toes. “Henry!” she called, the word bouncing off the walls of the cave and reverberating back to her. She kept walking – a slow, shuffling gait. The light from the end of the tunnel was so distant as to be absolutely useless and the darkness pressed in on her. The poor little boy. Emma had been frightened of the dark as a child – the dark and enclosed spaces – and she still was not fond of either. She hoped Henry did not share her fears.

 

“Henry,” she called again and this time she heard sniffing in response. “Henry, call out to me so I know you’re here.”

 

“Emma?” she heard back, a high little voice coming from not too far ahead.

 

“Almost there, little man,” she said, stumbling forward and tripping, landing palms first on the cave floor. “Damn!” She felt the hiss of pain, which told her she had scraped her palms badly. She pressed them against the side of her dress – already irrevocably ruined – in the hopes that any blood would seep into the fabric and not pool on her hands.

 

Amidst the sniffs and sobs she heard what sounded like a watery giggle. He couldn’t be badly hurt then, just scared. “You said a bad word. Mama says ladies don’t say bad words.”

 

“I know,” Emma said. “I must not be a lady.” He sounded close. She stayed on her knees, crawling the next few paces and whirling her arms around at every point she went. After a few paces, she touched flesh. Henry shrieked. “It’s all right,” Emma said quickly. “That was me, Henry. Can you move towards me? I don’t want to lose the track. It’s our path out.”

 

The next moment a small body leapt at her, arms clutching around her waist. Her knees ached and she suspected they were pretty bruised. She lifted him into her lap and wrapped her arms around him; it comforted her having his warm arms around her, making her feel that perhaps she was not quite alone in the universe. That was the worst of the darkness, being alone. “I’ve got you, little man. You’re safe,” she murmured into his ear.

 

“I want my mama,” he said, taking in deep, gulping breaths as though preparing to sob in earnest.

 

“Soon,” Emma promised, rubbing circles on his back. “Can you walk?”

 

“No,” he sniffed. “My ankle hurts.”

 

“All right,” she said. “Hold on tight then, love.” She pushed herself up, Henry’s arms pulling at her neck, straining, and when she stood she placed both her arms around him, hoisting him up so that he rested on her hip. She would rather carry him on her back but it seemed too challenging to organise in the dark and she didn’t want him to put any pressure on his ankle if it was hurt badly.

 

It seemed to take ages to journey back. Henry was sobbing quietly and Emma could feel the damp soak into the fabric covering her shoulder. Emma murmured to him, nonsense really, but keeping up a steady stream of chatter in his ear. She couldn’t fall; it would be a disaster. So with shuffling footsteps, they moved further until the black became charcoal and then grey and she could see the light of the entrance. A bit further on, she could see a dark figure – Regina – pacing in front of the mine entrance, her posture stiff and her hands worrying in front of her. “Call out to your mama, Henry,” she whispered.

 

“Mama!” Henry shrieked. “Mama!” Emma winced, the sound hitting her eardrums.

 

She was now able to see the ground and she broke into a clumsy sort of run, Henry jostled against her at every step. At the entrance, she pushed Henry through into Regina’s waiting arms and then crawled through herself, making it to the grass before she collapsed, letting all her panic out at once in quick, sharp breaths.

 

Regina had Henry in her arms, squeezing him so tightly he wriggled and squealed even as he cuddled her back. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said, her voice choked and rough.

 

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whimpered.

 

“Are you hurt?” she asked, hand pushing his hair back from his forehead, eyes scanning his face.

 

“His ankle,” Emma said, her own voice croaky. She pushed herself up from lying down to sitting on the grass, her palms stinging with the pressure placed on them.

 

Regina looked at her for the first time and the gratitude in her eyes unmoored Emma. Tears had rendered her eyes shimmery and gleaming, translucent as whisky in a crystal glass. “Thank you, Miss Swan,” she said, voice heady with things left unsaid, before turning her attention back to her son. “Now, which ankle?”

 

Henry stuck out his left leg and Regina inspected briefly. “It doesn’t look broken. I will check it at the house. On my back, my little prince.”

 

“I can carry him,” Emma said, standing up and holding out her arms, even as her back and arms protested at the thought.

 

“You’re swaying, dear,” Regina said. “You’ve carried him long enough. I can manage the walk back to the house.” Henry managed to scramble onto his mother’s back. Now that he was out of the mines, his spirits had lifted. Regina clasped Emma’s hand, her grip tight, and even though it hurt the grazes on her hands, it centred Emma and enabled her to put one foot in front of the other.

 

Henry was immediately whisked upstairs, Regina with him as she barked out orders for the butler to call a doctor and for Regina’s own maid, Alice, to organise a bath for Emma. Emma watched in exhausted amusement as footmen dragged the bath into the room set aside for her and carried bucket after bucket of steaming water up the stairs. When the bath was filled, Alice helped Emma out of her clothes.

 

“I can do it myself,” Emma said, but her hands shook and she couldn’t undo the knots of her stays.

 

Alice batted her hands away and took over, hissing when she saw the state of Emma’s knees and the scrapes on her hands. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said and the sympathy in her voice made Emma feel weak and teary.

 

“I’m fine,” Emma said. “Don’t worry about me.” She eased herself into the water, the searing heat soothing her aching back and shoulders. Alice helped her wash her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. Deep ripples of contentment spread through Emma’s body and the fears of the caves seemed to wash away with her ministrations.

 

“Lady White is sending food up to you. Then you are to go to bed.” Emma bristled at the order and opened her mouth to argue, but Alice seemed to anticipate this. “Don’t bother,” she said, voice lowered conspiratorially. “She’ll just get cross and manage you back into bed.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be helped out of the bath and into a clean shift and luxurious dressing gown that was definitely not hers. Gold hadn’t bothered to buy her decent clothing that wouldn’t be seen outside her bedroom. Waste of money, he had said, so she had worn shifts and wrapped blankets around herself. She utterly refused to get into bed but allowed Alice to bind her hands with clean bandages. Her room had a window seat and she rested with her back against the wall, looking out at the sky, clouds tinged pink, and picking at the tray of food a footman brought up to her. She was more interested in the large goblet of wine to be honest; she shook when she remembered the mines, her fears not as gone as she might have hoped, and she felt like the wine steadied her.

 

She was just about ready to admit defeat and curl up in bed when there was a knock at her door and Regina entered. She had not changed her gown and there was still an air of desperation about her, though muted now. Emma noted that she must have run fingers through her hair because her normally elegant hairstyle was astray and strands of wild, curly hair stood out around her head.

 

“How is he?” Emma asked.

 

“Out like a light,” Regina said. “He has twisted his ankle though the doctor says it is not broken, thank God. Tired and scratched up. In the morning I might have the energy to be angry with him. Now I’m just glad he’s alive.”

 

“I’m glad,” Emma said.

 

Regina twisted her hands nervously and sat down on the window seat across from her. “Are you hurt?”

 

“Some scratches on my palms,” Emma said. “And my knees are plenty bruised.” She lifted the hem of her shift to her knees, which were purpling beautifully. Regina’s hand stretched out as if to touch but drew back with only a whisper of air between them.

 

“Thank you,” she said. “I know I said it, but I needed to tell you. You are quite a remarkable woman, Emma Swan.” She stopped, fiddled with the silver chain around her neck, the attached pendant hidden below the neckline of her dress. “What you said before you went after him…”

 

“Yes?” Emma asked. She couldn’t remember. It was all blurring together for her now.

 

“You do matter,” she said, and this time when her hand stretched out, it clasped Emma’s hand. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the continued lovely feedback on this story.   
> Special thanks to i-heart-regina-mills on tumblr who created a lovely classic book cover for this - super cool!
> 
> I hope you continue to enjoy.


	11. In which stories are told and secrets discovered

“You do matter,” Regina said and she clasped Emma’s hand, feeling the soft skin, the callused thumb, and she couldn’t fool herself anymore. She cared for Emma, more than as a friend, more like in the way she had cared for Daniel, and the thought terrified her. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t.”

 

Emma’s eyes were wide, her lips pulled tight so that lines formed at the side of her mouth and her chin trembled. “No one has ever told me I matter before,” she said.

 

“Well, it’s about time someone did then,” Regina said and tried to laugh, the sound hollow and false to her own ears. What she had just said was important and dark and made her vulnerable but there was something about the woman that made her spill her soul. She dropped Emma’s hand and looked at her lap, picking at a stray thread on her dress. “I will, of course, replace your dress if it cannot be salvaged.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emma said, shaking her head.

 

“Do not fight me on this, Miss Swan,” Regina said, tone now brisk and business-like. “You saved my son’s life.” Emma looked at her hands, bandages wrapped around her palms. “Now, go to sleep,” she said, dragging Emma over to her bed and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “Get a good night’s rest, Miss Swan,” she said.

 

“Emma,” Emma murmured. “I like it when you call me Emma.”

 

“Very well, _Emma_ ,” she said, the name crackling on her tongue, and pulled the covers up to her neck. Emma’s eyes closed, absurdly long lashes brushing against her pale skin. Regina simply stood and watched her for a moment. “Good night,” she murmured and she kissed her forehead. It was an automatic gesture, she told herself, but there was something, like lightning, when her lips pressed against Emma’s skin and she felt herself jolt back. What would Emma think?

 

But she didn’t open her eyes. “Thass better,” Emma muttered.

 

Regina almost ran out of the room, leaning against the wall outside the door, heart pounding and lips quivering as though they had been shocked. 

 

She left Emma quite alone the next day, though it was a shame she could not say the same for Mary Margaret. The foolish girl barged into Emma’s room at just after ten. Emma had only just been sent up a breakfast tray, having been bypassed by Alice when she attempted to get out of bed. Regina had been passing by Emma’s room, completely coincidentally, when she saw Mary Margaret slip in, leaving the door ajar.

 

“Oh, my dear Emma,” Mary Margaret cried. “How are you? My step-mama informed me of your incredible bravery yesterday.”

 

“I’m fine,” she heard Emma say, her voice hoarse and raspy from a lack of sleep.

 

“Are you very badly hurt?” Mary Margaret asked eagerly. Even the piercing tones of the girl’s voice set Regina’s nerves on edge. How Emma could deal with it, she would never know.

 

“Only scrapes,” Emma replied. “I would rather not talk of it. How are you?”

 

“Oh, it is all so dismal,” Mary Margaret responded, eager as ever to talk about how difficult her life was. Regina felt a sneer curl onto her lips. “Step-mama is being an absolute beast.” Regina bristled inwardly before reminding herself that it was, admittedly, true. “You are so lucky to have your independence. My step-mama would never approve of Sir Jones.” She giggled shrilly and Regina had never wanted to slap her more.

 

At that point, Alice rounded the corner and saw Regina standing outside Emma’s room. She raised an eyebrow and continued on to Regina’s chambers. Regina, sighing, followed her.

 

“I wasn’t listening in,” she said, immediately on the defence.

 

 “Did I say that you were?” Alice asked, folding cotton shifts and placing them in Regina’s chest of drawers. There was a smirk lurking at the corners of Alice’s mouth and Regina narrowed her eyes.

 

“You implied.”

 

“I said nothing.” Alice actually whistled when she placed the next shirt in the drawer.

 

“It is rude to contradict your employer,” Regina said loftily.

 

She laughed. “I apologise, my lady.”

 

“As you should,” she replied though a reluctant grin crept across her features. She moved to her wardrobe and pulled out a black spencer. She would go for a walk. The silence was comforting.

 

“Are you falling for her?” Alice asked abruptly.

 

“I – pardon?” Regina spun around, elbow connecting with the handle of the door. She let out a most unladylike curse and sat, cradling her elbows, face twisted into a grimace.

 

“Miss Swan,” Alice said. “I think you love her.”

 

“Don’t be absurd,” Regina replied, though her heart thudded. “Where do you get these ludicrous ideas, Alice?”

 

“I’m not here to judge,” Alice says. “There’s many who would.”

 

“I can’t – I don’t,” Regina stuttered. Her breath came out in short, constricted gasps. Her body shook. She felt as though she might be sick, swallowing bile. Alice dropped the remainder of Regina’s laundry and sat down beside her, stroking her back in concentric circles. Slowly, Regina’s breathing steadied and the tears that had threatened to fall stayed put. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

 

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Alice said, a tremor in her voice. “I’ll say no more about it.”

 

But Regina grabbed Alice and pulled her into an embrace. “It’s not love,” she murmured into her ear. “Just, it can’t be.” She tried not to think about the fact that it was Emma Swan she would rather have in her arms.

 

*

 

The next day Emma flatly refused to stay in bed a day longer and threatened to walk back to London if Regina refused to let her get up so she sighed, shook her head at Emma’s antics and suggested they take Henry on a picnic. When guided Emma towards the stables, a footman carrying Henry whose ankle was still tender, she froze and tried to pull away. “Please don’t make me ride,” she pleaded.

 

“If Henry can ride with me, you can manage a brief journey on horseback.”

 

Emma dragged her feet into the stables, looking as though she might bolt at any moment and Regina, after a moment’s hesitation, asked for Rocinante to be saddled along with Elinor. She had never entrusted her beloved horse with anyone else before but she knew he wouldn’t buck Emma and she needed a modicum of confidence with a horse if she ever wanted to make it as a rider. She helped Emma mount the horse, having provided her with leather gloves so she could grip the reins without pain, and ensured she was sitting correctly before mounting Elinor – side saddle this time because the ride would be brief – and allowed the groom to lift Henry up to her, sitting him in front of her.

 

She stopped them at an old beech tree at the outskirts of her property, spreading out a picnic blanket beneath the tree. Henry lay on the rug on his stomach, pulling at the grass and giggling at ladybugs while Regina organised the food and Emma sat, face turned towards Rocinante.

 

Emma’s bonnet shaded her face from the sun but Regina could see the smile blossoming as she watched the horses graze. “He’s not so bad,” she said.

 

“Rocinante’s Mama’s favourite,” Henry said, looking over at Emma with a smile Regina might have thought was sly if she had seen it on the face of an adult. She felt her face grow warm.

 

“Henry exaggerates,” she said. “I own many horses.”

 

“But Mama says Rocinante is special,” Henry added. “He’s her best friend. I have a best friend. His name is Hansel.” Henry continued to prattle on about his imaginary friend, invented last year when he was laid up with illness and could not see anyone but Regina and his doctors.

 

Emma grinned at her, that smile that had once been so alarming to Regina now comforting, which went a long way to showing her how far gone she was on this woman. “”You like me.” Emma’s voice was a sing-song.

 

“Nonsense, idiot girl,” Regina said, rolling her eyes and hoping the blush had faded from her cheeks. “I just refuse to have Mr Gold blaming me for you falling to your death from a horse.”

 

“I like you too,” Emma said, taking a bite of carrots in aspic. Regina felt the blush intensify.

 

Henry kept up a steady stream of chatter over the course of lunch, which was fortunate because Regina found herself almost shy, mind blank when she looked at Emma. “Why didn’t Mary Margaret come with us?” he asked suddenly.

 

“You sister is not… fond of me at present,” Regina said.

 

“But why?”

 

“Henry, we will talk about it later.”

 

As soon as lunch was eaten, Henry fell into a doze, head resting on Regina’s lap, and Emma and Regina sat silently observing one another. It was Emma who broke the silence. “He is so like you,” she said.

 

“So Mary Margaret told you he is merely my ward,” Regina replied, reading between the lines.

 

“I’m sorry.” Emma picked at the grass, letting it slip through her fingers.

 

“Don’t be,” Regina said. “The truth is, I am glad he is not mine by birth. He would be half Leopold’s had I given birth to him. This way he is mine alone.” She stroked the dark hair away from Henry’s forehead. She had been pleased that the downy blond hair he had had as a baby had fallen out and been replaced with dark hair. It made him feel more like a part of her, knowing that they had similar colouring, in spite of the milky shade of his skin, considerably fairer than her own.

 

Emma leaned over, her shoulder nudging Regina’s. She couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not, but she felt that jolt run through her at the brush of Emma’s bare arm against her own. “Tell me about him,” she said. “Leopold, I mean.”

 

For a moment, Regina considered changing the subject, but Emma knew so much already. The rest could not possibly hurt. “He was old,” she said. “The same age as my father. I was his second wife. He did not love me, still in love with his first wife.” She hated the name Eva as a result. Mary Margaret’s mother was the paragon of all virtues, while Regina little better than a whore. “I was a possession, a beautiful object to hang off his arm and make him admired by half the ton.”

 

She thought back to those years, where she was an ornament, the jewel on Leopold Blanchard’s crown. She would walk into ballrooms and people would stop and stare at her. But she became off limits. She couldn’t fight back either, not too much – Henry was the only thing she had ever really fought for in her marriage. Because Leopold knew about Daniel and he had married her anyway and her mother constantly told her how lucky she was.

 

“He also wanted a mother for Mary Margaret, though it did not stop him bedding me. He wanted a son and I was young enough and pretty enough to do. But I had three miscarriages and no children to term.” Regina’s hands shook. “He stopped trying after the third.”

 

Emma reached out and took Regina’s hand. It was the first time Emma had made the first move and Regina, despite her vulnerability, was comforted by this fact. Perhaps this was not entirely one sided after all. Emma cared for her. “Why did your parents make you marry him?”

 

“I have often wondered,” Regina said. “I was beautiful then and had a sizeable dowry. I wondered why my mother would not let me have my Season. I have reached the conclusion that it was fear that propelled her to accept Leopold’s proposal on my behalf.”

 

Emma raised an eyebrow.

 

“Mother had always encouraged the rumours that my father was of Italian stock. Being Italian was exotic enough while still respectable and there is no denying that my skin is too dark to be an English rose. I have often wondered though… The lullabies my father sang to me as a child were not Italian. My grandfather did a great deal of trade in the West Indies.” She stopped. She had only the vaguest of memories of her grandmother. She had never asked her father – and the kindly gentleman would have told her anything – and now it was too late. “And why am I telling you this?”

 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Emma said earnestly. “I mean, maybe in company I will make coded references to it…”

 

“Let it go, dear,” Regina said and Emma laughed. Henry woke at the sound, rubbing his face against her leg and stretching his arms.

 

“Mama, when do we have to go back?”

 

“Now, sweetheart,” Regina said, packing the picnic things back into the basket and discreetly wiping away an errant tear threatening to leak from her eye. “Miss Swan, would you mind helping Henry onto my horse in a moment?”

 

Emma lifted the boy like he weighed nothing and handed him to Regina, who had mounted her horse. Then, clumsily, she managed to hoist herself back onto Rocinante, who stood patiently waiting for Emma to figure it out.

 

The rest of the day was spent in the library, Regina playing the pianoforte and Emma playing spillikins with Henry, who fell about laughing every time Emma got it wrong. Regina began to think Emma was deliberately getting it wrong. Even Mary Margaret joined them for a short time when tea and cake were served though she ignored Regina utterly – acting as though she was depriving Regina of a very great pleasure.

 

Henry insisted on Emma putting him to bed with Regina. “Because you’re my knight,” he said, matter of fact. “I’m the prince an’ Mama’s the queen an’ you rescued me so you can be a knight even though you’re a girl.”

 

Regina smiled. “Miss Swan may not wish to be a knight, darling.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Being a knight is a dream fulfilled,” Emma said and grinned over at Regina. “Do I get a favour from the beautiful lady?”

 

Regina’s face felt warm again but she removed a flower from a nearby vase. “Good sir,” she said, curtseying, and she handed the flower to Emma. She placed the flower behind her ear, smile broad and showing straight, white teeth.

 

Henry grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her towards the stairs. She stumbled after him, laughing, and the sound carried through the hall. Regina followed close behind. “Careful on your ankle, my little prince.”

 

At Henry’s room, she paused in the doorway, watching the tableau before her. Her son limped around the room, grabbing books and toys and showing them eagerly to Emma. Emma herself was focused on a small painting on one wall – it showed Henry, then only a toddler, sitting on Regina’s lap in the garden. The artist had captured something of Henry’s mischievous grin and his inability to remain still; his body was twisted to look up at his mother and his shirt was rumpled. She had always liked the painting though it was too rough and simple for display in the main part of the house.

 

“It’s a nice picture,” Emma said, turning to her.

 

But before Regina could respond Henry tugged her arm impatiently. “Read me a story,” he said.

 

“Please,” Regina admonished.

 

“Please,” Henry repeated, looking up at Emma from under long eyelashes.

 

“I suppose,” she said. “I’m not really much good at reading stories.”

 

“Mama can help,” he said, jumping into bed and patting his blankets. Emma sat and Regina perched beside her. “She’s the best at telling stories. She does all the voices.”

 

But Emma’s attention was drawn to a blanket, once white but now grey and scummy with age. The bird embroidered in one corner was still visible but only barely. Regina suspected it was supposed to be a swan, stitched by someone who had never actually _seen_ a swan. “Where did you get this?” she asked and there was a quaver in her voice.

 

“My mother,” Henry said. “She couldn’t keep me but she left me with Mama because she knew Mama would love me enough for all the people in the world.” It was the story Regina had told him when he was old enough to understand.

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I do not feel well.” She leaped to her feet and strode from the room, leaving Regina and Henry quite alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing support last chapter! I'm loving the comments and what people are thinking of this so far. 
> 
> Because I haven't said in a while, you are welcome to follow me on tumblr (aimtoothpaste) if you so choose. I occasionally post snippets.


	12. In which Emma flirts outrageously with Sir Killian Jones, Regency dandy

Emma managed to reach her room before she broke down. She knew that blanket. She had knitted that blanket, months and months with her stomach swelling and knitting needles in hand. Her landlady at the time had taught her to knit, fixing up her many mistakes, and Neal had bought (or, more likely, stolen) the wool for her. It had been a beautiful pure white wool, fine to the touch and clearly expensive and Emma had been so, so happy.

 

And then Gold had found them and Emma had faced being turned in to the magistrate for theft, being accused of a crime Neal had committed. Gold had offered her the deal – the child for her freedom – and Emma had taken it because Neal hadn’t fought for her and she had been heartbroken and so naïve. Gold wanted his son’s freedom, to be attached to a woman of a higher calibre than street rat Emma Swan whose baby would ruin everything. Her one comfort was that it had backfired on him because Neal still wouldn’t go near his father.  

 

There was a tentative knock at her bedroom door. “Not now, please,” she said, begged really.

 

Regina’s voice travelled through the wood of the door. “Very well, Miss Swan,” she said. “I will not let this go, however.”

 

Emma’s insides pooled with dread. How on earth would Regina take Henry being Emma’s child? She had just heard her talk about how happy she was that Henry was all hers, and to discover he was the illegitimate son of two criminals… Well, Emma imagined she would hardly be welcome in Regina or Henry’s company after that.

 

She contemplated her trunk. Should she cut and run? She could make the early morning mail coach that would take her back to London. But Sir Jones was arriving tomorrow and it was not worth Gold’s wrath to miss an opportunity to seduce Jones. She would simply have to avoid Regina for the rest of the weekend and then disappear from her life forever.

 

But the very thought of not having Regina in her life made her shoulders shake and her heart ache desperately. It was ridiculous, she knew, in so many ways. She had known the woman for mere weeks, never mind the fact that she was female and so far above Emma that she would have to scale whole mountains to reach her level. But she cared for her. She wanted her. Sometimes she thought Regina might feel the same.

 

She removed her gown, stays and petticoats and, left in only a shift, crawled into bed where her sleep was plagued with dreams that could never come to pass, where she and Regina married and raised Henry as a family and no one was at all concerned about it.

 

The next morning, she sought out Mary Margaret, who was in the library, reading. “I thought you would be spending time with my step-mama and Henry again,” Mary Margaret said, hurt crumpling her features.

 

“I am her guest,” Emma said. “I can hardly ignore requests that I accompany her.” She spoke lightly, attempting to convey her disinterest in her host to the over-anxious Mary Margaret.

 

Mary Margaret melted at her words. “Well, she will not find you here,” she said. “She avoids me just as much as I avoid her. What would you like to do? Talk? Play cards?”

 

“I don’t wish to interrupt your reading,” Emma said. “I will find a book and join you. Are you nearly finished ‘Sense and Sensibility’?”

 

“Almost,” Mary Margaret said. “I just cannot fathom how this whole mess can be worked out. Surely Edward is too noble to leave that vile Lucy Steele but Elinor _must_ have a happy ending.”

 

“My lips are sealed,” Emma said, scanning the bookshelves for something else to read. She found the first volume of ‘Pride and Prejudice’; someone had told her it was by the same author as ‘Sense and Sensibility’ and she had been curious about it for a while, though she had not had time in London to seek it out.

 

She was three chapters in when her stomach noticeably growled; she had avoided the breakfast table that morning and was now paying the price. Mary Margaret giggled and rang the bell for tea. “Oh, you chose ‘Pride and Prejudice’,” she said, pouring tea. “I loved that novel.” She watched Emma, who was attempting to delicately eat a pastry – no easy task given the flake of the crust. “You remind me of Elizabeth Bennet a little actually.”

 

Emma laughed. “You’re a darling,” she said. She was enjoying Elizabeth Bennet’s sarcastic commentary more than she had ever expected to.

 

“No, you do,” Mary Margaret insisted. “You’re brave and independent and not afraid to speak your mind.” She stared at Emma for a moment. “Perhaps Sir Jones is your Mr Darcy.”

 

“Perhaps,” Emma said, though she struggled to understand why her supposed love would be the disagreeable Darcy who had barely been mentioned but to insult the heroine’s appearance and refuse to dance. “I am tolerable, though obviously not handsome enough to tempt him.”

 

“Oh, I did not mean it like that!” she exclaimed. “You are quite beautiful. You will understand as you read on.”

 

Emma continued to read. She had always been a quick reader, a habit accrued in her youth where books had been taken from her before she had a chance to finish them too often for her to count. Darcy was a hopeless snob but there was something inherently likeable about him, nonetheless. She could not help but be reminded of Regina’s own snobbery and reserve.

 

They were left quite alone for the bulk of the day, reading and playing cards when Mary Margaret finished ‘Sense and Sensibility’, weeping over the happy ending. It was late-afternoon when carriages started to arrive and a footman was sent to the drawing room to request they dress for company. Emma found Alice in her room when she ascended the stairs.

 

“I can dress myself,” Emma said, eyeing the maid. She was mousey, ginger hair pulled back into a tight bun and dowdy, though neatly made, clothing. “Thank you.”

 

Alice scanned her appearance doubtfully before she spoke. “I was sent by Lady White to help you dress,” the maid said, chin jutting out in an obstinate way. “And I intend to do just that.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes but allowed Alice to select a gown for her, a pink silk, just a shade too bright to be entirely respectable. She then unpinned Emma’s mess of a bun and redressed her hair, bun pulled tightly back and curls framing her face. While she worked, she talked. “Lady White has deliberately left you alone today,” she said. “And it has put her in a foul mood.”

 

Emma froze at the mention of Regina. “I am sorry to hear that she is not in best spirits,” she said.

 

“We’re well used to her ways here,” Alice said. “If you two could fix whatever ails you, I would take it as a kindness though. It took the best part of an hour to select a dress that she deemed appropriate for dinner tonight and her hair! My goodness, her hair.”

 

“There’s no bad blood between us,” Emma said.

 

“Nonsense,” Alice replied. “You were thick as thieves yesterday. Did she hurt you in some way? She’s not good at expressing herself, our lady.” Alice’s voice was fond and spoke of long experience with Regina. Her smile was surprisingly mischievous and brightened her whole face.

 

“How long have you known her?”

 

“I was her maid when she was fifteen,” Alice said. “I followed her when she married, poor lass.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“He was a bastard,” Alice said. “If you’ll pardon my language. Marriage is just another prison if your husband doesn’t respect you.”

 

Emma nodded, pulling her hair from Alice’s hands with the gesture. “She told me the story, some of it at least.”

 

“I’m glad she has someone else to confide in,” Alice said. “Seems like it would be good for you too, Miss.”

 

“I have nothing further to confide,” Emma said, laughing, though the sound was anything but mirthful. She stood, brushing her skirts so they flattened in neat lines and slipping her feet into cream slippers.

 

“See, I know that’s not true,” Alice said, amusement lacing her voice. “You’ve got secrets, dear. They’re weighing you down.”

 

“Thank you, Alice,” Emma said, her voice a knife’s edge, and left the room. She found the party congregating in the grand drawing room. She recognised Jones, Locksley and Lady Midas, though there was another woman present who she had not met before. She must have been about Regina’s age, though where Regina was dark and wielded her beauty like a weapon, this woman exuded innocence, petite, with hair about Emma’s shade and pointed ears. There was something of the fey about her.

 

“Miss Swan,” Jones said, coming forward and bowing. His cravat was a deep plum and Emma had to bite her lip to stop from laughing at his heavily pomaded hair, the slickness less than appealing.

 

She curtseyed back, ensuring her décolletage was on full display. “Oh, Sir Jones, what a pleasure it is to see you again. It has been so horribly dull without your company.”

 

Jones’ chest puffed up but before he could respond, she heard Regina’s voice from behind her. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence, Miss Swan,” she said. Emma whirled around and saw Regina, resplendent in a deep, rich burgundy, the cut of her dress daring and an ornate silver necklace clasped around her neck. Emma’s eyes were drawn from the necklace to the small, perfect breasts below it and the image of them unclothed darted traitorously across her mind. She felt a flush spread across her face that she hoped the company would attribute to the warmth of the room.

 

“Lady White,” Emma said, nodding. “I do not believe I have met every one of your party.”

 

“You know Lord Locksley, of course,” Regina said, gesturing at the moustachioed gentleman, who bowed. “His wife was required to stay in town, unfortunately. And I believe you have met Sir Jones.” She smiled sardonically and Emma barely resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She guided Emma, hand pressing at the small of her back so that Emma felt a warmth settle in her belly, over to Lady Midas and the other blonde woman. “Lady Midas and Miss Rose Bell. Miss Bell is my closest neighbour.”

 

Emma watched the woman, a reserved smile hinting at the corners of her mouth. Miss Bell did not seem like someone she could easily coax from her shell, nor did she particularly care to. She had a job to do. She smiled and, squaring her shoulders, she moved back to Sir Jones. “Is town terribly exciting at present?” she asked.

 

“Dreadful tedious without you there, Miss Swan.”

 

She giggled and tapped his arm with her hand. “Oh, sir.”

 

Another man was escorted into the drawing room, who Emma recognised as Lord Nolan. The viscount stood before them, resplendent in a scarlet waistcoat and tight trousers. “Ah, Lord Nolan,” Regina said, hurrying forward. “My step-daughter will be down presently. So good of you to join us.”

 

“Glad to be here,” he said, looking around the room, eyeing first Emma and then Miss Bell appreciatively. Emma felt hatred coil in her stomach. The man was a leech. How Regina could allow Mary Margaret to be married off to him was beyond her.

 

Mary Margaret chose that moment to enter the drawing room. “Lord Nolan,” she said, curtseying stiffly. She was dressed modestly, her pale dress high cut and with sleeves that fell to her elbows. Everything about her appearance suggested someone who wished to be unnoticed.

 

Nolan’s grin widened, the scar next to his mouth stretching. Something niggled in the recesses of Emma’s mind, though she ignored it. “Lady Blanchard. You are looking quite handsome tonight.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, voice dull and unemotional. She stared at the floor rather than at her betrothed.

 

The butler entered again, murmuring something to Regina. “Dinner is served, I believe,” she said. Emma was left quite alone as they proceeded to dinner, the lowest ranking woman in the party. She ended up seated at the far end of the table from Regina, who sat at the head with Locksley on her right and Nolan at her left. Fortunately, or at least Emma supposed so, Jones was close enough to converse with.

 

She knew she was flirting outrageously, eyelashes fluttering, smile on full beam, breathing so as to allow her chest to rise and fall dramatically, and she felt Regina’s eyes on her. She chanced a look; the woman’s eyes were hooded and angry, though the rest of her face fell in a mask of amused indifference to the proceedings as she answered Locksley’s questions and directed the servers.

 

Jones was distracted for a moment into conversation with Nolan so Emma turned to Miss Bell, surely a less exhausting conversational partner. She wondered at the pretty woman being older than Emma herself and still unmarried. “I believe Lady White said you were from nearby.”

 

“My family’s estate borders Lady White’s home,” Miss Bell said. She had a soft, high voice and her tone did not encourage conversation so Emma returned her focus to Jones’ smiles and searching expression.

 

At the completion of dinner, when the gentlemen were retiring for a drink and the ladies to the drawing room, Emma deliberately positioned herself so that she brushed against Jones, allowing herself to stumble and be caught in his arms. “Thank you, sir,” she said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes and letting him continue to clasp her around the waist rather than straighten up.

 

“Not at all,” Jones said. The rest of the party filed past them. “I say, Miss Swan, perhaps we might take a walk through Lady White’s grounds tomorrow? In private?”

 

“I should like nothing more,” Emma said, forcing a smile to her lips. He was going to propose. She knew it. The plan was falling into place. Why did she feel so sick about it? He let go of her, a hand brushing against the bare skin of her shoulders, and she tensed.

 

She sat apart from the main company in the drawing room, though Mary Margaret sat down beside her at the window sill. Unusually, she seemed disinclined to talk. Her hands twisted before her and she seemed anxious about something. Emma wondered if she realised there was no way out for her; she hoped the girl would hold out a while longer until the viscount tired of the chase and Regina tired of toying with her step-daughter. They sat in comparative silence, engaging in occasional conversation about frivolities – gowns, the weather, music. Emma watched Regina work the room, at once impressed and aware of the very different social spheres they occupied.

 

Finally, the party dispersed. Emma took a circuitous route via the library, grabbing the volume of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ she had been devouring much of the day. She suspected she would struggle to sleep tonight. However, when she arrived at her room, the door was slightly ajar. She entered. Regina sat on the edge of her bed, hands composedly on her lap and sneer in place on her lips. She reminded her so much of those first encounters, the barbed, sarcastic woman in her elegant gown.

 

“Did you drink too much at dinner?” Emma asked. “This is a guest room, not your own.”

 

“I’m only surprised you arrived,” Regina replied, bitterness apparent in her voice. “The way you have been behaving tonight I would have expected you to be warming Jones’ bed.”

 

“Might I remind you that that’s what I am being forced by Gold to do?” Emma said. “If you were a man, I might almost think you were jealous, Lady White.”

 

Regina’s right hand twitched and a flush of red appeared along her cheek bones. “I did not come here to discuss that man,” she said. I came to request that you explain last night.”

 

Emma sighed. “I was merely tired.”

 

“Liar.” The curve of Regina’s lips was anything but amused.

 

“You don’t want to know,” Emma said. Her whole body ached. “Trust me.”

 

“Let me be the judge of that, Miss Swan,” Regina said.

 

“Fine,” Emma snapped, voice echoing through the room, louder than she had anticipated. “I recognised that blanket. And you know why? Because I knitted it. I embroidered that stupid purple bird in the corner. I messed up the stitching in at least four places. I wrapped it around my baby boy when I gave him to Gold in exchange for not going to prison.”

 

For a moment, Regina was frozen, mouth barely open. If it were not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, Emma might have thought she was a statue. Then she stood and advanced towards her, her movements sinuous and cat-like. Emma tensed, ready for the barrage of rage, grief, disappointment. But it didn’t come. Instead, Regina’s hand reached up to cup Emma’s cheek, the pads of her fingers stroking at her skin, and she leaned forward.

 

Their lips met, the kiss chaste, Regina’s lips soft. Emma could hear her heart roaring in her ears, smell the roses which perfumed Regina’s body, taste the wine on her lips, feel the press of velvet against her bare arms.

 

“Thank you,” Regina said, parting from her. “For my son.”

 

And so Emma surged forward; her hands curled through Regina’s hair, pins falling to the floor, and pulled her towards her to kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this was actually a Jane Austen story, it would basically be a reworking of 'Pride and Prejudice', hence the reference. 
> 
> Next chapter has my favourite Regency trope of all time in it!


	13. In which Mary Margaret does something inexpressibly foolish

Regina woke early on Sunday morning to sun pouring through a crack in her curtains, painting her skin golden. She stretched her arms up towards the headboard and smiled. She had kissed Emma and Emma had kissed her back. Everything else was just details.

 

The second kiss had grown heated, the sort she remembered having with Daniel, the sort where inhibitions were scraped away and warmth started to twist between her legs. The sort she had never had with her husband. That indomitable grin of Emma’s had spread across her face when they had parted the second time, foreheads touching. Regina had felt her soft breath against her skin. “So,” she had said.

 

Regina, her own lips curved into a broad smile, had brushed the back of her hand against Emma’s cheek. “Yes, dear?”

 

“Are you all right with Henry? I mean, me and Henry?”

 

“I probably need to process it,” Regina had said. “But I love my son. Nothing could possibly change that. And I am … fond of you.”

 

“I’m fond of you as well,” Emma had replied. She had reached out a hand, fingers caressing the scar on Regina’s lip, the skin tingling where she was touched. “What does this mean?”

 

“Again, I think we need to process,” she had replied because she couldn’t think with Emma so close to her. “I’m going to bed. We will talk tomorrow. I promise.”

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Emma had said, pouting.

 

“I’m just down the hall,” she’d said. On spotting the gleeful look on Emma’s face, she had added hastily, “that was _not_ an invitation, Miss Swan.”

 

So now, she allowed herself time to just bask in the afterglow of those two perfect, outstanding, spectacular kisses. Emma had looked so afraid when she told Regina what she had worked out about Henry but she found she just _did not care._ Henry was hers, whoever his parents had been and that her son had some part in him of the woman she cared for, well, that was not altogether negative. Henry had saved her life at the lowest point of her marriage. And now, apparently, that was because of Emma.

 

Handsome Emma, with her broad smile and her strong arms and the freckles that had blossomed on her nose since she had joined Regina in Derbyshire. Brave Emma, who had rescued her son from the mine and stood up to Regina herself in one of her crueller moments. Kind Emma, who had taken care of a lost little boy she had bumped into on the street and comforted Regina when she was reliving the worst moments of her life.

 

There was a knock at her bedroom door and Alice entered. “Morning, m’lady,” she said, drawing the curtains and fastening them back. “Are you ready to dress?”

 

Regina smiled languidly. “In a moment.”

 

Alice glanced at her and her eyes narrowed. “What happened to you last night?” she asked.

 

“Nothing,” Regina said. “Well, not much,” she amended when Alice raised an eyebrow.

 

“I know that dreamy look,” Alice said. She had been around when Regina had fallen in love with Daniel. She knew the signs of when Regina was falling for someone. “You kissed someone, didn’t you?”

 

“She’s just lovely, Alice dear. Just so… lovely.” Regina hands reached around to hug her own body, remembering not for the first time Emma’s hands against her.

 

Alice smirked. “I’m sure she is, m’lady. Is there anything in particular you wish to wear?”

 

Once dressed – something that took a rather longer time than usual for the country though this time not because of her bad temper – Regina organised her correspondence and consulted with the house keeper before repairing to the dining room for a leisurely breakfast. Locksley and Lady Midas were at breakfast, Lady Midas reading a fashion magazine and Locksley with a newspaper. “You look exceedingly cheerful, Lady White,” Locksley said, standing.

 

“I am always content when I am in Derbyshire, my old friend,” Regina said, taking two fresh rolls from the sideboard and slathering them with butter and marmalade. A footman poured her a cup of hot chocolate and she sat at the table.

 

“It is so very droll to see you in this environment,” Lady Midas observed. “One would never think you were a leader of society seeing you this morning.” Regina simply smiled.

 

Shortly after she sat, Emma entered and Regina’s face ached with the effort not to let a mawkish smile spread across her face. “Good morning, Miss Swan,” Locksley said, standing when she entered. “I trust you slept well.”

 

“Very well, thank you,” Emma said, and chanced a sly look at Regina.

 

Lady Midas closed her magazine. “Well, I think I shall go and read outdoors, my dears,” she said. “Care to join me, Locksley?” He nodded, folding his paper, and they departed, leaving Emma and Regina quite alone.

 

For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other, Regina’s eyes raking down Emma’s form; the modest gingham dress, curls barely contained by hairpins and her strong arms uncovered. A shy smile had blossomed on her face and her cheeks were stained pink. “Did you sleep well?” Emma asked.

 

“I had the most wonderful dream,” Regina said, allowing herself to smile now that they were alone. “I almost felt as though it were real.”

 

The bliss was broken by Jones entering and Regina felt a stab of anger and jealousy in her gut. “Lady White,” he said, bowing. “Miss Swan, I wonder, are you free to take that walk now?”

 

Emma’s face paled. Regina’s hands balled into fists beneath the table. “I would be delighted to,” Emma said, voice coming out croaky. “I will meet you in the hall in fifteen minutes.” And she left.

 

Regina felt tears prick her eyes. Of course. Back to reality. The reality in which Emma would seduce and betray Sir Killian Jones, making herself ridiculous in the ton. The reality in which she would disappear after that, out of Regina’s life altogether. The reality in which Emma Swan was owned by Mr Gold. The fresh bread and marmalade stuck to her throat and she left the remains on her plate, quite suddenly not hungry anymore. “Excuse me,” she murmured and Jones stood as she departed.

 

She knocked at Emma’s door and entered, finding her sitting on her bed, a letter in her shaking hand, wax seal visible. “We need to talk, Miss Swan,” Regina said.

 

“Yes,” Emma replied. “We do.” She handed Regina the letter. “It’s from Mary Margaret. She has eloped.”

 

Regina’s head spun and her heart thudded, but she forced herself to read the letter, in Mary Margaret’s girlish, round handwriting.

 

_Dearest Emma,_

_I write to you with the best of news. By the time you receive this, David and I shall be on the road to Gretna Green. I cannot marry the viscount, no matter what my step-mama says and I see no other way out of this. David conceived the plan – he intercepted the invitation, pretended to be his brother to gain access to the house yesterday and we left before dawn this morning in his carriage._

_I do hope you can be happy for me, my darling Emma, even if you disapprove. Not all of us can be lucky enough to have the smooth path to true love that you and Sir Jones shall have. I know David and I shall be happier than I ever conceived possible._

_Please do not tell my step-mama until absolutely necessary. I am afraid she will not respond well._

_Your devoted friend,_

_MM_

 

Regina’s hand holding the paper balled into a fist, the paper crumpling. “Where did you find this?”

 

“It was on my bedside table,” Emma said. “I didn’t notice it when I awoke. My mind was … otherwise engaged.” She looked at Regina as though she rather feared her and Regina suspected she must look a sight; shaking, a flush in her cheeks and danger in her eyes.

 

“I have to leave immediately,” Regina said.

 

“Perhaps you should just let them go,” Emma suggested. “They seem fairly determined.”

 

“This is about more than revenge now, Miss Swan,” Regina replied, her mind running through the possibilities. One scenario was that it made for a minor scandal before Mary Margaret and her husband made a quiet retreat to the country. However, it was not the most likely possibility, not at the height of the Season, not with Regina as her step-mother, the ton forever waiting for her to step a foot wrong so they could capitalise upon it. “If word gets out, that foolish girl’s reputation will be ruined. It is quite all right though. I will not ruin your romantic _tête_ -à- _tête_ with _Killian_.”

 

“Are you insane?” Emma asked, standing. “Have you actually lost control of your senses? If you’re going on a wild goose chase to find Mary Margaret, I’m coming with you.”

 

“You most certainly are not,” Regina said icily.

 

“Just try and stop me,” Emma said. Her arms were folded across her chest, her eyes fiery and her jaw jutting out.

 

“Fine,” Regina snapped. “Come with me. Ruin all your important plans.”

 

“Did you ever consider,” Emma said softly, “that maybe that isn’t the most important thing to me right now?” She looked as though she wished to embrace Regina, arms twitching at her sides and the same expression in her eyes from yesterday when she surged forward for that second kiss.

 

Regina couldn’t handle that, not now. She turned on her heel and found Alice in her dressing room. The smile fell from her lips when she caught sight of Regina’s face. “It is urgent that you pack a bag for myself and Emma. Mary Margaret has eloped.”

 

Alice, to her credit, contained her surprise to a quiet gasp, before hurrying off to find an old carpet bag. Regina then ordered her barouche prepared for transport, uncorked her ink and wrote to Miss Bell, requesting she come and play hostess for her guests for the rest of their stay.

 

She found Henry in the nursery, playing soldiers. “Darling boy,” she said, kneeling and enveloping him in a hug. Now that she looked closely at him, she could see Emma in his features – though it could have been her imagination. They did share a chin and a tendency to freckle though.

 

“Mama,” he said, snuggling against her. Mine, she thought. Still mine.

 

“I must go away for a few days,” she said when they parted, holding him by the shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Your sister has done something inexpressibly silly and I have to go and deal with it.”

 

His lower lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want you to go.”

 

“I will be quite safe,” she said. “Miss Swan will be journeying with me and you know that she’s a knight, ready to save me from any danger. I love you, my dear, brave boy.” She embraced him again.

 

“Love you, Mama,” Henry whispered in her ear and she squeezed him tighter until he wriggled from her grasp.

 

She met Emma on the stairs. “I have just apologised to Sir Jones,” Emma said. “I am ready when you are.”

 

Alice appeared with a carpet bag stuffed full. “Your pistol is wrapped in a shift and there is food for the journey,” she said. “Take care she eats,” she said to Emma, who nodded.

 

“Honestly, Alice, I can take care of myself,” Regina said, “and don’t think I didn’t notice that eye roll. Come, Miss Swan.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Emma said, and followed her down the stairs.

 

“Get in the barouche. I will be with you shortly.” Regina found Locksley in the library with his paper; she suspected he was hiding from Lady Midas who would never enter a room so full of books. “Robin, I need your support with something. Mary Margaret has eloped. Miss Swan and I are going after her. I’m entrusting the house and my guests to you and Miss Bell. More particularly, I am commending the care of my son to you.”

 

“Of course, Lady White,” he said. Henry knew Locksley and liked him. The man had taught him how to fire a bow and arrow last time they had met. With any luck, he wouldn’t miss Regina too much, and with any luck she would not be gone long.

 

“I am also trusting your discretion,” she added.

 

“I will not tell a soul,” he said and clasped her gloved hand in his, squeezing. “I hope you find her before…”

 

“So do I,” Regina said grimly.

 

Emma sat in the barouche, eyeing the horses nervously. Regina sat and gathered the reins. “You’re driving?” she asked, the words coming out in a terrified squeak.

 

“Of course,” Regina said. “Don’t be alarmed. I am very good.”

 

“I don’t doubt it,” Emma muttered but Regina flicked the reins and the horses set off. Quite soon they were on the open road and Regina kept up a swift pace. She had some of fastest horses in Derbyshire and if they made good time, they could catch up with Mary Margaret and David, if not today then the next. So intent on riding, she did not speak to Emma for what must have been an hour. When she remembered the woman was beside her, she turned and saw Emma staring at her, eyes wide and a rapt look on her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” Regina said.

 

“For what?” Emma asked. “I’m most impressed.”  

 

“Did you have any idea my idiot step-daughter was planning this?” Regina asked.

 

“No,” Emma said. “I would have dissuaded her. I don’t agree with you forcing her to marry a man she cannot love but eloping? Sheer foolishness.”

 

Regina nodded, reassured. Now that her rage was dissipating, anxiety for Mary Margaret had started to set in; she hated feeling concern for the girl, the bevy of unfamiliar emotions overwhelming and distasteful.  “You know,” she said, in order to distract herself. “I can see a little of you in Henry. Nothing of the thief though.”

 

“Neal?” Emma asked. “He has his hair. Brown, straight, won’t lie flat.”

 

“Of course that _person_ has gifted Henry his least loveable feature,” Regina said and Emma laughed.

 

“He’s all you,” she said. “He may have some of my appearance but his personality is pure ‘Regina’.”

 

Regina turned to her, eyes away from the road for a moment. “Do you really mean that?” she asked.

 

“Of course,” Emma said. “He’s your son. I would love to know him but I’m not going to try and take him away from you. I’ve just…” She paused, took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted to find him, to know that he was safe and happy. And he is.” She rummaged in the carpet bag. “Bun?”

 

Regina smiled and accepted the bread gratefully. Her stomach was starting to twist and she regretted leaving much of her breakfast on the plate.

 

It was nearing nightfall before Regina would allow them to stop. The horses were exhausted but they had made good progress. “There’s an inn,” Emma said, pointing ahead. She had slept for a while in the body of the carriage as Regina drove but she looked exhausted, drawn and pale.

 

It seemed respectable enough when they entered, clean and colourful and the clientele adequately attired. “My cousin and I are looking for rooms,” Regina said, adopting an imperious tone and daring the landlord to suggest that she and Emma looked nothing alike for such close relatives.

 

The landlord bowed so low she could see the bald patch in the centre of his head. “Of course, of course,” he said, wiping perspiration from his forehead with the edge of his apron. “I’m afraid there is only one room left, however.”

 

Regina looked at Emma who bit her lip but did not argue. “That will do. We shall be leaving early in the morning. Please have dinner sent to up our room.” She placed a few coins on the countertop and the landlord’s face brightened.

 

“Let me show you to your room,” he said, grabbing a key. They ascended the stairs, the landlord ahead of them and carting the carpet bag. Once settled in the room, Regina looked around. The room was cosy, clean and colourful drapes and a small dining table by the window. There was only one bed.

 

“I can sleep on the chaise,” Emma said. “I’ve slept in worse.”

 

“I’m sure we can manage sharing a bed,” Regina said, sounding more collected than she actually was.

 

Emma blushed. There was a knock at the door and when Regina answered a maid brought in a tray laden with food and a jug of wine. “Thank you,” she said and the girl bobbed a curtsey and departed quickly.

 

Regina removed her travelling gloves, her pelisse and scarf, folding them over a chair. Emma did likewise. Then they sat down to eat. There was something about so intimate a setting that made Regina tongue-tied and awkward, besides which her thoughts kept returning to Mary Margaret and how she was going to wring her neck when she found her. Emma kept darting glances at her between bites of chicken.

 

When the plates were cleared away and the fire stoked by the obliging maid, Emma looked over at the bed again. “I suppose we should get some rest,” Emma said. “You will want to be up early.”

 

“We do need to make good time,” Regina said. Emma, inexplicably modest, went behind a screen to strip down to her shift, and Regina was left with a problem. The dress chosen this morning had not been one chosen for ease of travel, but to impress Emma. It had fifteen fiddly buttons down the back that Regina, try as she might, could not undo. “Emma dear?”

 

Emma popped her head out from behind the screen. “Yes?”

 

“I need help undressing.”

 

Blushing furiously, Emma moved forward, tying a ribbon at the end of the braid she had fashioned. Her shift was translucent and Regina could make out the shape of her legs and the swell of her breasts, nipples erect in the chill. Emma stood behind her, fingers tentative as she worked each button from its hole. She felt Emma’s breath on her neck and then her lips pressed down on the bare skin of Regina’s neck. Regina gasped.

 

“Sorry,” Emma said, sounding horrified.

 

“Never,” Regina said, voice trembling, “be sorry for doing that.”

 

“I’ve finished with the buttons,” Emma replied, moving away and Regina felt unexpectedly saddened by the loss of her touch. When she looked up, having removed the rest of her outer garments, Emma was in the bed, the covers pulled up to her chest. Gingerly, Regina got in next her, leaving as much space between the two of them as possible. Aside from Henry when he had nightmares, she had never shared a bed.

 

“We have things to talk about,” Regina said, snuffing out the candles. “Now is as good a time as any.”

 

“I suppose.” The light from the dying fire cast flickering shadows across Emma’s face. “Last night…”

 

“Was wonderful,” Regina said and then panicked. “I mean, for me.”

 

Emma looked across at her. “I was worried you would regret it,” she admitted.

 

“I could never regret you, Emma,” she said and Emma’s lip quivered. Regina leaned over to kiss her, one hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Emma’s hands shook when they brushed against Regina and she sucked at her lower lip. All too soon though, she pulled away and Regina whined at the loss; her body had warmed rapidly and the brief sensations of Emma’s lips on hers had made her brainless and relaxed, almost as if she were drunk.

 

“We should sleep,” Emma said, pushing a curl back from Regina’s cheek, thumb brushing her skin. “We have to rise early if we stand a chance of catching up to Mary Margaret before the border.” She nuzzled her head against Regina’s chest and Regina wrapped an arm around her before drifting easily off to sleep for the first time in what felt like a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for the 'eloping to Gretna Green' trope in a big way (also, there's only one room in the hotel and we have to share).
> 
> Thank you so much for the amazing support of this. I'm so stoked people are enjoying it!


	14. In which a plan is foiled and a heart is broken

Emma woke wrapped in Regina’s arms, her head pressed against her breast and one leg thrown over Regina’s. She had never anticipated herself being someone who craved closeness; even with Neal, she had felt claustrophobic when he had pressed too close after they had been intimate. Grey light filtered in through the window and there was a chill seeping through the poorly insulated room so she cuddled closer to Regina’s warm body. Her movement roused Regina, however.

 

“Come, Emma,” she murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss onto Emma’s head. “If we leave now, we will gain a two hour start on Mary Margaret and Nolan. She is difficult to wake in the mornings.”

 

Emma nodded but burrowed closer still, nose rubbing Regina’s side. “It’s so warm holding you,” she said, voice husky with sleep. “Want to do this forever.”

 

“I fear you might tire of that, dear.” Regina’s fingers trailed down Emma’s arm, pads of her fingers against Emma’s bare skin like lightning. “Besides which, my arm is going numb.”

 

“Could never get tired of you,” Emma said, her exhaustion acting as a truth potion of sorts.

 

The next thing she knew, Regina had pulled the blankets off them and had slipped out from beneath Emma, leaving her on the mattress. Emma’s shift was rucked up to her thighs and goose bumps quickly formed on her arms and legs. “Evil,” she muttered and Regina laughed. She seemed unhampered somehow.

 

“We’re anonymous here,” she said, clearly spotting Emma’s curious look. “There is no Jones or Gold or house guests. No one here knows who I am.”

 

“It’s freeing,” Emma said. She didn’t like to think how Gold would react if he knew she had the opportunity to be proposed to by Jones and had chosen instead to hare off across the country with another woman. However, watching Regina dress, lacing her stays and stepping into a fresh gown that buttoned at the front, was distraction enough for the time being. Her stays pushed her breasts up and Emma couldn’t tear her eyes away.

 

“Ahem,” Regina coughed, sounding like nothing so much as a matron at her school. “Emma dear, if you don’t get out of bed now I will have to leave without you.”

 

Sighing, Emma eased herself from the bed, feel hitting cold wooden floors, making her shiver. Quickly, she pulled on short stays laced at the front over her shift and then the gingham dress from yesterday. She didn’t bother with the screen this time, though she still attempted to preserve some modesty, dressing with her back to Regina. She had become very used to dressing herself, though she was surprised Regina managed it. “How…”

 

“I like to be self-sufficient,” Regina said. “I trust Alice, but if she’s sick or with her family, I do not wish to have a stranger helping me with something so intimate.”

 

Emma nodded. “Ready?” she asked, snapping shut the clasp of the carpet bag. Regina might have been good at dressing herself, but her hair was adorably crooked, the parting not quite centred and thin strands of hair frizzing free from her pins like snakes. Emma’s hand twitched, but she resisted the urge to smooth the hair.

 

After a quick bite of breakfast, they were back in the barouche. Regina, the unruly hair covered by a bonnet, took the reins and Emma slid in beside her on the driver’s seat. “If you still need sleep, you can curl up in the back,” Regina said.

 

Emma shoved her lightly with her shoulder. “I’m staying right here with you, Lady White,” she said. “As tempting as more sleep is,” she added, yawning. Regina rolled her eyes and the horses set off at the same quick pace as the previous day.

 

They were not more than three hours down the road when Emma saw the curricle pulled to the side of the road. It leaned precariously on one side and Emma suspected that one of the wheels had broken. Curricles, unfortunately, were notorious for accidents. Regina quickened their pace and they pulled alongside the stranded carriage.

 

Mary Margaret sat on the side of the road, her hair a frazzled mess, her gown crumpled and stained grey at the hem, and dried tear tracks down her face. David Nolan seemed to attempting to fix the axel of the damaged wheel and not achieving much more than a ripped, dirty shirt and grease on his hands.  

 

“Mary Margaret Blanchard, get in the carriage now,” Regina barked, jumping down from the driver’s seat. She had never sounded more like a mother to Mary Margaret than in that moment. Mary Margaret looked up, her face contorting in horror.

 

She stood and David Nolan stood beside her, an arm around her shoulders. “No,” Mary Margaret said, defiant until the very end. “I love David. We are going to go to Gretna Green. We shall be married and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

 

“You are being ridiculous,” Regina snapped. Emma, feeling rather like she was peeping on a private moment, sat very still and tried not to stare too openly.

 

“Lady White, with all due respect…”

 

“Mr Nolan, I prefer you when you’re _not_ talking,” Regina said. “And if I find out that you have ruined my step-daughter, I will challenge you myself.”

 

“I assure you, Lady White, my intentions…”

 

Regina held up a hand. “Enough.” She turned to her step-daughter. “Mary Margaret, if you elope, your reputation will be destroyed.”

 

“I don’t care,” she said, meeting her step-mother’s eyes with a fierce gaze.

 

“Now you may not care,” Regina said. “But in ten years? Twenty years? When you are still not entirely accepted by the ton? When your own daughters are tarred with the same brush? As girls who are liable to break off engagements and elope? Mr Nolan is not nearly wealthy or powerful enough to allay the scandal.” Emma wondered if Regina was perhaps over-stating things but then she did rather have a stake in the situation.

 

“You don’t care about me. Why would you care about my daughters?” Mary Margaret said though Emma noticed that her defiant smile faltered and the faintest of hope bloomed on her face. Emma knew how ardently Mary Margaret wished for her step-mother to care for her. “I’m not marrying the viscount,” she added. “I would rather die an old maid.”

 

“You will do as you are told,” Regina growled and Emma grimaced. She had been so close and then, the evil queen came out.

 

“Then I am staying right here,” Mary Margaret said. “You cannot force me to get into that carriage.”

 

But David Nolan took Mary Margaret’s hand in his and she turned to face him. “Darling, perhaps it is for the best,” he said, his eyes round and drooping, rather like a dog’s. Emma pitied him; she had liked him when they had danced together and he didn’t deserve Regina’s wrath.

 

“No,” she whimpered. “David, don’t.”

 

“Go with your step-mother,” he said. “I will find you. We will be together, I promise.” Tears began to form anew in Mary Margaret’s wide eyes. She turned from him.

 

“How tragic,” Regina drawled and Emma was struck by the woman’s ability to switch from care to sarcasm and anger. “I was so looking forward to using my pistol.”

 

Mary Margaret sneered at her step-mother and stalked over to the barouche, getting into the back of the carriage and slumping against the side. “Perhaps I should sit with her,” Emma whispered and Regina shrugged.

 

“If you must,” she said. So Emma slid into the seat beside Mary Margaret, who immediately dropped her defiant façade and collapsed against Emma, sobbing into her dress. Regina turned the barouche and set them back towards Derbyshire, leaving David Nolan fixing his curricle on the side of the road.  

 

It took two days to return to Derbyshire. They stopped at a different inn on the way back. This time, Emma shared a room – though not a bed – with Mary Margaret, “to ensure she does not get any foolish notions about running away,” Regina said, glaring at her step-daughter.

 

Mary Margaret clung to Emma like a limpet during this time. “I love him so much,” she whispered.

 

“I know you do, darling,” Emma said. “But eloping is not the way to solve your problems. Remember Lydia Bennet.” She had finished ‘Pride and Prejudice’ that evening, while Mary Margaret alternately sobbed and raged. She had contemplated feeling guilty about it but Mary Margaret didn’t seem to need a conversationalist, just someone to vent her feelings at. “Let me talk to your step-mother.”

 

“She is quite implacable,” Mary Margaret said, sniffing. “I will find another way. She cannot watch me forever. David and I will always find one another.”

 

Emma resisted the urge to pull a face at the sentimentality of that final comment and instead suggested they get some rest. The next day’s ride was little better, though at least Mary Margaret had ceased crying. Instead she sat staring straight forward, as though she might be able to destroy her step-mother with the power of her glare.

 

Henry ran out to greet the barouche when they pulled in at Regina’s Derbyshire estate. “Mama, Mama!” he cried, arms outstretched, his sprained ankle apparently fully healed. Regina lifted him into her arms, pressing kisses all over his face. Emma smiled, though Mary Margaret simply disembarked from the barouche and ran inside, ignoring Henry.

 

“My darling boy,” she said. “Did you have fun with Uncle Robin?”

 

“We shot arrows,” Henry replied. “I almost got a bull’s eye.” His little chest puffed out with pride. At that point, he looked over and saw Emma. “Emma! Can you shoot arrows?”

 

Emma laughed and ruffled his hair. “I’m afraid not, little man.”

 

“You must learn,” Henry said solemnly. “If you like, I shall teach you.”

 

“I should like that,” Emma said.

 

“Well, it’s very important if you want to protect Mama,” he said and Emma smiled, thinking she would like nothing so much as to protect Henry’s Mama.

 

Regina wasted no time informing her maid that her step-daughter was not to be left alone. “Even when she sleeps,” Emma overheard her saying. Regina, after three full days away from the estate, was absent for the rest of the afternoon and Emma amused herself with books, Jones and Lady Midas having departed that morning and Miss Bell and Locksley leaving on their return.

 

It wasn’t until late at night, after Emma had returned to her room, dressed for bed and found (but did not open) the letter with the all too familiar handwriting scrawled across it, that she crept down the hall to Regina’s bed chambers, hoping to see her one last time. She dared hope she might get a kiss good night. “I wanted to see you,” she said, when she opened the door.

 

Regina was in a dressing gown, her hair neatly braided back. She sat at the window, a book open in her hands, though she was not reading but staring out the window into the dark. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I missed you this afternoon.”

 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Emma said. She thought Regina’s hair might have been freshly washed. There was a shine to it and it seemed to have dried curly.

 

Regina patted the window seat. “Sit with me, dear.”

 

Emma sat gingerly, her toes touching Regina’s when she faced her. “What will you do about Mary Margaret?” she asked.

 

I don’t know,” Regina admitted. She fiddled with the end of her braid and Emma thought she had never seen her look so young. “She cannot marry Nolan; that much is certain. She _deserves_ the viscount. He would be a fitting punishment.”

 

“So few of us get what we truly deserve in life,” Emma said.

 

Regina frowned. “I don’t wish to talk about Mary Margaret,” she said. “She has occupied too much of my thoughts these past days.”

 

“Oh?” Emma raised her eyebrows and she felt Regina’s eyes scan her body, clad in a thin cotton shift and a shawl around her shoulders. She did not own a dressing gown and had not felt comfortable continuing to wear the one lent to her when she rescued Henry.

 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Regina asked. “I find I do not wish to be alone.” Emma nodded, her mouth dry and her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Regina took her hand and led her to the bed.

 

It did not take long before Emma was seated on Regina’s lap, kissing her, nipping at her lower lip. Emma’s hands were everywhere, ghostly touches across her breasts, stomach, and thighs… She couldn’t keep them still, not when given free reign over so exquisite a body. Regina’s hands were coiled firmly in Emma’s curls, pulling her closer, the occasion burst of pain when she yanked too hard stoking the fire within her.

 

“We should stop,” Emma said, pulling back and Regina whined at the loss of touch, the needy sound making Emma feel powerful with want.

 

“I don’t want to stop,” Regina said. Emma didn’t recognise the voice coming from her lips, unsure and soft. “I know I should. I know this should terrify me, but I need to not think, just for a short time. Can you do that for me?”

 

“Are you sure?” Emma asked. She knew what she desired so much was depraved but the idea of it was so delightful she found she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was wonderful to be so caught up in sensation, so wonderful to just _feel_ things.

 

“I haven’t felt like this about anyone since Daniel,” Regina said, voice faltering over his name. Emma stroked a loose strand of hair back from her face, fingers brushing warm cheeks. “My husband had never been interested in my own pleasure, merely sating his own. I have taken no lovers. I want this.”

 

Emma grinned. “I want it too,” she said, and her hands drifted lower, rucking up Regina’s shift, until she could pull it over her head, baring her skin to the air. She had seen Regina’s naked form before but now, bathed in candlelight, she was magnificent. Her hands slid up Regina’s thighs, feeling the soft, silky skin beneath her palms. And then, then she touched her between her legs, fingers feeling tentative and clumsy against the wetness, and Regina cried out. “Is this all right?”

 

“More,” Regina breathed. So Emma gave her more, soft touches, all the while kissing her neck and collar bone and lips. Remembering that Neal had once taken her nipple in his mouth and how much she had liked it – though, lacking the confidence to express it, he had thought her cries had been of pain and, assuming she had disliked it, had never done it again – she did the same to Regina, tongue circling and teeth nipping. All the while, her fingers worked at the nub between her legs, which grew slick with moisture, and made Regina pant and gasp. Soon her body tensed into an arc and she let out a soft groan. She fell back against the bed, momentarily speechless.

 

“You know, the French call that _la petite mort_ ,” Emma said into the silence only broken by Regina’s rapid breathing.

 

Regina laughed. “I feel like I might have died,” she said, voice dreamy. “It has never been like that before. Do you want…”

 

“Only if you…” Emma said. She didn’t know how to express what had just happened; no one had ever talked to her about such things and Neal, though an adequate lover, had never spoken to her about what they had done, and their encounters had mostly been fumbling in the dark where pleasure had been incidental.

 

“Take off your shift,” Regina said and her eyes darkened in such a way that made Emma shiver. “I want to see you.”

 

Emma was sure her skin was flushing pink and there was some relief in pulling her shift over her head, because she was able to hide her face momentarily. Naked in front of Regina for the first time, she flung her arms across her breasts and curled her knees up to her chest. She did not have the same self-confidence Regina obviously had.

 

“Emma,” Regina said and even the sound of her voice had Emma breathing unsteadily. “If you’re uncomfortable, we will stop. Any time, I promise.”

 

Emma met her eyes and slowly moved her arms away from her chest. Regina’s gaze dropped and a smile began to form on her features that had Emma feeling weak and shaky. “Kiss me,” Emma begged and Regina seemed all too happy to oblige, surging forward and meeting Emma’s lips. All the while, her hands roamed, her touch branding Emma’s skin. She pushed Emma back on the bed, straddling her. When her hands reached her breasts, Emma shuddered, breaking the kiss, which only encouraged Regina’s lips to move elsewhere, kissing along her collar bone and down to the rivulet between her breasts.

 

And then her fingers were between Emma’s legs. It took time to find a rhythm, her movements awkward and halting at first and Emma’s nerves made her tense up, but when one finger slid inside Emma and curled, her hips bucked forward involuntarily and Regina let out a satisfied purr against Emma’s shoulder.

 

Soon she was biting her lip to keep from crying out and Regina, merciless, found a rhythm and kept touching until Emma keened with need and then, suddenly, let go, body tensing and shaking while Regina continued to touch and stroke and kiss until she had relaxed, limbs like jelly and heartbeat slowing.

 

Everything was hazy after that point but she remembered Regina pulling her shift back on and helping Emma with her own. She remembered blankets being pulled up around her and an arm clasping her close and Regina’s voice in her ear. “I’m falling for you, Emma Swan.”

 

She woke early and, careful not to wake Regina, returned to her rooms, to the letter from Gold that had arrived while she was away and remained unopened on her bedside table. With shaking hands she broke the seal and read.

 

_Miss Swan,_

_Now that Jones has left Lady White’s accommodation, I expect you to make your excuses and return to London post-haste._

 

_E.G._

 

It did not take long to dress, washing carefully between her legs and changing her shift before she did so, and then pack her bag. She had always been good at travelling light. Then she wrote Regina a letter and, grabbing her bag, snuck down the stairs and out the door, ready to catch the early morning mail coach, which was due to drive past within the next ten minutes.

 

She did not let herself cry until she was seated on the coach taking her back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the awesome support of this story. I hope you continue to enjoy and I'm sorry about the ending of this chapter.
> 
> Also, I had to change Regina's curricle to a barouche because I realised to late that a curricle only seats two. I don't know. I don't understand carriages, but then I don't understand cars and I figure they're the same thing.


	15. In which peace is brokered and a plan formulated

Regina woke the next morning and stretched. She was certain her body was still tingling from the aftershocks of the previous night. But when she turned to face Emma, she found her gone, her side of the bed cold, though there was the faintest imprint in the wrinkling of the sheets, which suggested she had been there – that it hadn’t simply been a wonderful dream. Sunlight peeked through a crack in the curtains and she guessed it was no earlier than seven. Emma must have returned to her room. She smiled. Her concern for Regina’s reputation was touching, though unnecessary. The only person to ever enter Regina’s room on summer mornings was Alice and Regina trusted her with her life.

 

She rang for her maid and Alice arrived shortly after, carrying a basket of freshly laundered clothing, whistling rather tunelessly. “I wish to dress,” Regina said and she could have sworn the smile on Alice’s lips looked suspiciously like a smirk.

 

“There is something different about you today, m’lady,” she said.

 

Regina rose from the bed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, following Alice into her dressing room, but the smile impressed upon her visage suggested otherwise. Behind the screen, she washed her body with lukewarm water and pulled on silk stockings and a fresh shift, balling up the soiled shift and throwing it over the screen for Alice to collect.

 

“I won’t ask about the smile,” Alice said, picking out a dress in Regina’s usual dark shade.

 

“No,” Regina said. “I must still own something in white.”

 

“Well, well, this is quite a change in fashion,” Alice said, digging deep into her wardrobe and finding a more suitable dress. “Will pale blue do?”

 

“Fine.” She let Alice lace her stays and button the intricate pearl buttons up her back. The soft, pale fabric was unfamiliar against her skin, always olive-toned, but darkened by the sun this past week. She watched Alice brush out her hair before pulling it back into a bun and teasing the dark curls that curled around her face.

 

“Correspondence first?” Alice asked, but Regina shook her head, slipped her feet into boots and left the room for Emma’s, though not before noticing Alice’s smile and glaring at her altogether too familiar maid.

 

The door to Emma’s room was ajar and Regina slipped inside. To her surprise, it was empty, the bed neatly made and no evidence of Emma’s possessions. No evidence of Emma, in fact, bar the folded sheet of paper sitting on the bed. It was addressed to Regina and, her heart sinking into mud, she opened it.

 

 _Dear Regina,_ she read.

_I have been called back to London quite suddenly by my guardian. He hopes to make a good match for me shortly. I thank you for your kind hospitality and I apologise that it was impossible for me to stay the full fortnight._

_Give Henry my love. Farewells are too difficult when one cares so much._

_Your humble servant,_

_E.S._

 

Regina sat rather suddenly on the bed, her head spinning and eyes pricking with furious tears. Emma was gone. The handwriting was surprisingly tidy; Regina had always assumed Emma would write in a messy scrawl, though she had no idea why. Towards the end, her handwriting became shaky and a sentence below her signature had been written and scribbled out so firmly that the paper had ripped. She didn’t know what it said but if she had to guess, it would be what she had whispered to Emma last night as she fell asleep.

 

“M’lady?” Alice was at Emma’s door. “Is there anything I can help Miss Swan with?”

 

Regina walked out into the hallway. “I very much doubt it,” she said, and her voice was hard as granite, “seeing as how Miss Swan has departed for London.”

 

Alice froze, hand still on the door handle. “She’s where? But…”

 

“I do not wish to discuss it,” Regina said coldly. One hand clenched and unclenched around the letter, the paper wrinkling irretrievably. “Miss Swan has left for London. Life shall return to normal around here.”

 

“But you were happy…” Alice said, and there was something wistful in her voice. “I haven’t seen you happy in such a long time.”

 

“I said I do not wish to discuss Miss Swan,” Regina growled. “I think will tackle that correspondence after all but I find this dress does not suit for today.” She returned to her chambers and when changed into a serviceable navy linen gown, she sat down to sort through invitations, correspondence for the estate and varies sundry items of business, willing away the lead in her heart.

 

When the clock chimed ten, she stood and went down for breakfast. Mary Margaret sat at the table, her face drawn and wan. She fiddled with a roll, reducing the bread to crumbs with her fingers. When she saw her step-mother, she leapt to her feet and attempted to flee. “Stay,” Regina said and, thinking of Emma, always thinking of Emma, damn her, added, “please,” though it was through gritted teeth.

 

“Why?” Mary Margaret asked.

 

“I do not wish to be alone,” Regina said. “Not right now.”

 

“I am sure Emma would be more than happy to keep you company,” Mary Margaret said and there was a distinctly Regina-like sneer on her lips, of which Regina was almost proud.

 

“She has gone,” Regina said, trying to maintain composure and failing because the tears started to fall and the next thing she knew, she was sobbing. She struggled to stand under the weight of her distress and Mary Margaret helped her into a chair and poured her a cup of tea, hovering anxiously beside her, all her distaste and barely concealed rage gone for the time being.

 

Regina forced herself to stop, taking in deep breaths and holding her jaw so tense that it ached in an effort to stem the flood of tears. She had never shown weakness in front of Mary Margaret before and the prospect terrified her. She took the tea, hand shaking, and forced a sip. “Thank you, dear,” she said and was pleased to hear that her voice was clear and free of tremors.

 

Mary Margaret hesitated a moment. “Why are you so upset?”

 

“It has been a long few days,” Regina lied. “I am not myself.”

 

“It’s more than that.” Her step-daughter frowned.

 

“I thought Miss Swan and I had become close friends. Her leaving so suddenly was rather a … shock,” she said.

 

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. She stood, dithering between the door and the chair before seemingly making a decision, pouring herself a second chocolate and sitting in the seat closest to Regina. “Did she give a reason for leaving?”

 

“Her guardian has asked her to return to town,” Regina said. “He hopes she can make a good match with Killian Jones.” And then destroy him, she added privately.

 

Mary Margaret frowned. “I told Emma that Sir Jones was her Mr Darcy. I’m not so sure now. For all of his handsome features, he’s very… ordinary, isn’t he?”

 

Regina barked out a laugh. “Indeed.” She sipped her tea and chanced a spoonful of porridge when a footman brought in a pot. Her stomach did not revolt. “Thank you, dear.”

 

Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “I know why you’re doing this,” she said. “To me.”

 

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

 

She tripped over her words as though in the rush to lose them. “I know I broke a promise when I told your mother about Daniel and I am sorry. I watched you grow more and more miserable each day with my father and every time I tried to apologise the words stuck in my throat. I am so sorry, Regina. I really am.”

 

“Do you think that changes anything?” Regina asked.

 

“No,” Mary Margaret said. “I know it doesn’t and I know it is ten years too late but I needed to say it, not for forgiveness but so you knew and I understand why you wish to keep me from David.”

 

“Henry and I might take a picnic this afternoon,” Regina said. “Would you care to join us?”

 

Mary Margaret’s smile was tentative and small when she replied. “I would like nothing more.” She left the dining room then and Regina was left alone with her thoughts. A dangerous notion.

 

Emma had to have known that last night was their last together. She had to have read Gold’s letter before she came to Regina’s room and to not say anything… Regina was torn between wanting to tear her apart with her bare hands and sob for the poor girl who’d never had anyone who cared about her in her life that, so afraid to lose it, she left without saying goodbye.

 

And to seduce Jones! Regina knew the plan was never to actually marry the man; Emma would surely never countenance such a request from Gold, but it was enough to know the man would own her for a short while, be allowed to sneak kisses, be allowed to escort her around London. And when she dropped him, her name would be in tatters. She would surely disappear back to her old life after that. Regina would not be able to see her. They would run in different circles.

 

“Mama?” It was Henry. “Mary Margaret said you wanted me.”

 

A strange and unwelcome feeling of gratitude spread over Regina. “Yes, my dear one.” She gathered him up to sit on her knee and he turned his nose up at the now congealed porridge in her bowl. “I have missed you.”

 

“Missed you too, Mama,” he said and then did a rare thing indeed and planted a kiss on her cheek and she nearly cried. “Why’re you sad?” He asked, poking dangerously close to her eye, which must have been red from crying still.

 

“I’m sad because Miss Swan has had to go away,” Regina said, hoping that the tremble in her voice wasn’t noticeable.

 

“Why?” Henry asked, frowning.

 

“Because she does not live here and her guardian needs her in town,” Regina said.

 

Henry pouted. “But she needs to keep us safe,” he said.

 

“Darling, I can keep you safe,” Regina said, kissing his forehead. Henry squirmed. “There is no one more protective of her children than a mother.”

 

“You can’t keep you safe,” Henry said with the tone of someone who had just put forward unassailable logic. “You should tell Emma she has to live with us now.”

 

Regina smiled, indulging, for a moment, in the fantasy, of her and Emma raising Henry together, dining together, sharing the responsibilities of the house, doing everything a married couple might do. Recalling the previous night – they had already done things married couples might do – and she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Shall we go for a picnic today?” she asked and, to her relief, Henry dropped the subject.

 

*

 

The next afternoon, Rose Bell came to call. Regina had known Rose since the beginning of her marriage to Leopold Blanchard. She was of approximately Regina’s age, not yet thirty, and had seemingly resigned herself long ago to being an old maid. Her lack of fortune brought about by a father who had gambled away her inheritance, coupled with her natural reserve, had made her an unattractive prospect in spite of her considerable beauty.

 

Regina liked her, one of the few people in her life she could say that about. So, despite her apathy, she greeted Rose warmly. “How are you, Miss Bell?”

 

“Quite well, thank you,” Rose replied and it was only by having been so close to her for so long that Regina knew she was lying.

 

“What’s wrong, dear?”

 

It took some persuasion but eventually she yielded. “I loved the past weekend,” she said. “But it has reminded me that I am alone and unlovable and, oh Lady White, I want a family and a home and children.”

 

“Is there anyone in particular who has prompted this?” Regina asked, diverted by Rose’s sudden flight of feelings.

 

“I know that it is foolish and impossible and I know that he cares for Miss Swan and I know that I am too old…” She broke off.

 

Regina interrupted her, something akin to hope rising in her chest. “You mean to say that you feel something for Sir Killian Jones?”

 

Rose only sighed in response.

 

“Well,” Regina said. “You must accompany me on my return to London. We shall have a time of it and see if we can’t help you get over the insufferable dandy.” With Rose in town, she could see if Jones felt similarly. She could part him from Miss Swan. The double purpose of rescuing Miss Swan and irritating her excessively was too intoxicating to resist.

 

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Rose said, looking faint at the thought.

 

“Nonsense,” Regina replied, smiling. “Pack your trunk. We will depart in two days.”

 

When Rose had gone, the reality of her plans set in. What would she do about Mary Margaret? The girl could not be left to her own devices but there was far too much opportunity for mischief in London.

 

Shuffling that problem from her brain, she went in search of Alice, who would need to pack swiftly, and Henry, who would need considerable placating. He _hated_ London. But, surprisingly, Henry was at peace with it when she told him they were returning to town.

 

“You can find Emma,” he said with some satisfaction, “and tell her to come and stay forever.”

 

“It doesn’t work like that, darling,” she said.

 

“Maybe I could ask her,” he said. “I’m real good at persuading.”

 

“You are indeed,” Regina said, trying not to laugh. “But we may not see Miss Swan in London at all.” Regina was in two minds on the subject. On the one hand, fury still rose from her like an untamed beast and she wished never to see Emma again. And on the other, her heart ached and she knew that if she saw Emma it would take all her willpower not to hold her close and refuse to let go.

 

She slept fitfully that night, visions of Emma haunting her dreams. She woke drenched in sweat with a hand between her legs. Horror-struck, she leapt from bed and splashed her face with tepid water from a basin in her dressing room. She had always retained control over her body and now, after one night with Emma Swan, she was having _dreams_ that sent her libido raging out of control.

 

But now that she was awake, the question of Mary Margaret returned to her. The girl was an idiot and had ruined Regina’s life and she _deserved_ the viscount. Emma’s voice swam in her mind. “So few of us get what we truly deserve in life.” And she remembered other things. Mary Margaret fighting with Leopold for Regina to keep Henry. Mary Margaret’s apology the day prior. A thousand desperate acts of kindness, for a step-mother she adored even as Regina loathed her.

 

She would never stop hating the girl for what she did but she did not kill Daniel and perhaps it was time Regina let the blame fall at the feet of those who deserved it – her mother and Leopold. So it was that the next day, Regina called Mary Margaret to the parlour.

 

“Sit, dear,” she said and handed her a cup of tea. Mary Margaret sat anxiously. She knew Regina was to return to London; the household was frantic with it. Regina couldn’t help but let her stew for a moment. “You may have been informed that I am returning to London.”

 

“Yes,” Mary Margaret said, voice small.

 

“I have considered this carefully,” she said. “You are to stay here. You are still in considerable trouble for attempting to elope.” Mary Margaret’s face fell, eyes flooding immediately with tears. “However, while I am in London, I will be meeting with Spencer and cancelling our arrangement. If you wish to marry the charming idiot, I will not stop you.”

 

“Oh!” Mary Margaret squealed and before Regina could protest or move away, Mary Margaret flung herself at her and hugged her tight.

 

“Get off, foolish girl, before I change my mind again,” she said and Mary Margaret drew back promptly, though her face was luminous with happiness.

 

“Oh, my dear step-mama,” she said. “Emma was right about you. You are not so unfeeling.”

 

Regina sneered, though there wasn’t a great deal of force behind it. Emma had seen the best in her and she somehow hoped she was working towards that best, not away from it. “Go quickly. If you write the Nolan boy a letter, I will pass it on when I reach town,” she said and Mary Margaret scampered from the room.

 

And so it was that the next day, she, Henry and Rose Bell boarded a carriage bound for London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, how do you emotion? Sorry about the incredible amount of flip-flopping.  
> Also, I have started calling Rose, DEUS EX LOVE INTEREST. 
> 
> Thanks for the continued superlative support.


	16. In which Emma meets a devil and an avenging angel

Emma sighed on her return back to Gold’s home, shrugging her feet out of the flimsy silk slippers, battered and nearly ruined by the evening’s activities. She had danced every set, suddenly the belle of the ball. She had this horrible suspicion that Gold had increased her “wealth” while she was out of town; it felt rather like having a price on one’s head.

 

Her back ached. Her head ached. Most of all, her heart ached.

 

She missed Regina. She undressed, hands moving over her skin as she did so, and she remembered Regina’s touch, how she had looked at her like she was something precious. No one had ever looked at her like that before. Crawling into bed, she hoped desperately for a dreamless sleep. It hadn’t happened so far. Most nights she woke up with Regina’s name on her lips.

 

There was another assembly the following night. Where once she had gone and rather enjoyed them in spite of the job she had to do, now she was just miserable. She leapt around the room with Jones as a partner, feet feeling as though they had been sucked into mud. Jones seemed distracted as well; he had ever since her return from Derbyshire.

 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her. She shook her head. She had seen visions of Regina wherever she turned this past week – any woman with dark hair or elegant attire was Regina until proven otherwise. “Miss Swan?” Jones asked.

 

“Yes? Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought I saw Lady White.”

 

“Oh, she is in town again.” Jones spoke so casually, as though he was not totally rocking the foundations of Emma’s world. She stumbled and Jones righted her, a hand looping her waist. At the end of the dance, she begged off another, making excuses about her ankle.

 

She slipped into a hallway, finding a quiet nook, knowing she would have twenty minutes at best before it was noticed she was missing. Gold was keeping a closer eye on her now. Just moments after she sat down, pulling off her gloves and slipping her feet out of her shoes, she heard footsteps. When the figure got close enough, she saw it was Regina.

 

“Oh!” Emma said. Regina looked tired, her mouth sagging into a frown and the candlelight casting a wan glow on her features, highlighting the darkness under her eyes. “Regina.” She wondered if Regina could see the open longing on her face because seeing Regina was like seeing water after months in the desert, or tasting cake when the only thing you had eaten before was gruel.

 

“Miss Swan,” Regina said. She looked past Emma at a point on the wall behind her and pursed her lips. “What on earth are you doing out here?”

 

“I could say the same of you,” Emma said. “Did you follow me?”

 

The faintest flush stained Regina’s cheeks. “Don’t be absurd. The assembly hall is simply too crowded.”

 

“That would explain the pink cheeks then,” Emma said.

 

“Won’t your love-struck swain be wondering where you are?” Regina asked.

 

Emma shrugged. “He can wait,” she said. “You are more important.”

 

“And when did you decide that, Miss Swan?” Regina’s voice descended to a low hiss. “After you left me?”

 

She had known that doing the unforgivable would make Regina refuse to forgive her. She had not anticipated it being so hard. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice small.

 

“Oh good,” Regina said. “That poor excuse of an apology changes everything.” She glared at Emma and there was something in the fierceness of her stare and the curl of her lip that made Emma’s heart flutter. She rose, moving towards Regina, who stood her ground.

 

And then Regina’s lips were on hers, harsh and angry and Emma felt the expensive fabrics of her gown against the bare skin of her arms and it felt so unfamiliar, so wrong, because _her_ Regina wore simple cottons and muslins, not black silks and red lace and pearls in her hair. Her Regina smiled freely and kissed gently and made Emma feel wanted. “Stop it,” Emma said, pushing her away.

 

Regina’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “I didn’t mean…”

 

“I can’t see a way out,” Emma said. “Gold…”

 

Regina sighed. “You left me,” she said. “I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.”

 

“I should get back,” Emma said. “Duty calls.”

 

“Of course,” Regina said; it was detached, as though she had already let Emma go. So Emma returned to the assembly room and found Sir Jones and flirted and danced and generally made an exhibition of herself and desperately hoped that Regina wasn’t watching her.

 

Three days passed and Emma saw nothing of Regina. She went to two card parties, went riding in Hyde Park, and danced at another assembly. But Jones did not ask the question; he was polite and charming and as attentive as ever but he did not approach her again to ask her to speak with him alone. The ball of anxiety churning in her stomach kept her awake, wondering if she had lost her chance. Gold would kill her.

 

She went for a walk that afternoon, having suggested to Gold that Jones had inferred he would be walking in the area. “A chance encounter,” she had said and he had merely nodded before returning to the papers on his desk.

 

It was a crisp, clear day and Emma returned to the gloom of Gold’s house, feeling rejuvenated. However, she was met on the steps by Belle, who was wringing her hands, face paler than usual. “Oh, Emma,” she said.

 

“What has happened? Are you all right?”

 

“He’s so angry,” she said. “Emma, Sir Jones has eloped.”

 

All the breath was knocked from her lungs and she swayed where she stood. “How? With whom?”

 

“A young woman of no fortune,” Belle said. “Miss Bell, I believe her name was?”

 

Rose Bell. Emma clutched a wrought iron fence post in a desperate attempt to stay upright. She felt a stab of anger towards the woman in the pit of her stomach. For one wild moment she considered that Regina might have had something to do with this in some misguided attempt to rescue her but Regina hated her and surely she understood that Gold was dangerous. She took a deep, steadying breath and allowed Belle to help her up the steps. “He’s going to kill me,” she muttered.

 

“I’m sure it won’t come to anything,” Belle said though her eyes darted anxiously, looking anywhere but at Emma.

 

“Miss Swan,” came Gold’s dangerous voice from inside his office. “In here. Now.”

 

Emma entered Gold’s study, her heart pounding out of her chest and her palms sweaty. She focused on the mahogany desk, covered in papers; she worried that if she looked at him, she would see just how irate he was. His revenge had been ruined and she knew enough of him to know that this could make him do something twisted. “Yes sir?”

 

“I assume Miss French has informed you of the ‘happy event’,” Gold said, his sneer pronounced. “You have failed me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma said and she tried, she really did, to inject some sincerity into her voice. “I really did try.”

 

“Not good enough.” Gold stood, moving around from behind his desk. “We had a deal, Miss Swan. You _assured_ me you could ensnare him.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. Though she’d always been wary of Gold, it was only now that she considered the possibility that this man was seriously unhinged. His black eyes glittered malevolently and his hand not holding the walking stick curled and uncurled into a fist

 

“Get to your room,” he said coldly. “I will call for you when I have worked out how you can repay me.” His lips curled into a smile that was anything but jovial; gold teeth glinted, shark-like, and his eyes speared her.

 

Emma climbed the stairs to her little room just below the servant’s quarters. When inside, she wasted no time packing her bags. She didn’t own much and she wouldn’t take anything Gold had purchased for her. Meagre belongings shoved into a bag, she turned the door handle. She had been locked in. She pulled a hairpin from her hair but, looking into the keyhole, she realised it was quite useless. Something had been stuffed into the keyhole; she was stuck until Gold decided otherwise.

 

She was hungry by nightfall but she was used to hunger. It was confinement that was driving her mad; she had worn a path in the floorboards pacing and bitten her nails down to the quick, relishing in the pain because it distracted her from her fears. She had been locked in a room at school on several occasions – a incarceration of sorts. It had left her with a terror of being trapped. It was past midnight before she fell into a fitful sleep, waking at regularly intervals, sweat dripping from her brow and breathing harsh and gasping.

 

Two mornings later, Belle unlocked the door and her face was so pale it was almost grey. “He wants to see you,” she said.

 

Emma, having endured two virtually sleepless nights, her hair lank, eyes fighting to stay open and her stomach aching with hunger, just nodded and followed Belle downstairs to Gold’s office. The woman squeezed her hand before she entered. Gold sat at his desk and when Emma entered he stood, using his cane to help him walk around to the front of his desk and sit on it. “Sit,” he said and Emma sat in the straight-backed chair. “Now, Miss Swan…” She shivered as his eyes scanned her form. “Well, we are in need of a wash, aren’t we?”

 

A little difficult to clean when you lock me in a room, she thought, but dared not say it aloud. “What do you want?” she asked dully.

 

“If I cannot have my revenge just yet, I will have to look for other ways you can be useful. I want my son back,” Gold said. “And you will be the bait.” He threw a newspaper at her, folded open to a column detailing the exploits of the ton. Emma read and felt the bile rise to her throat.

 

_Mister E. Gold is soon to wed his ward, Miss Emma Swan. The banns will be published this Sunday…_

 

Emma’s throat closed and “You can’t,” she said desperately. “Getting Neal back wasn’t part of our deal.”

 

“But you broke our deal,” Gold said. “And you are of no use to me now Jones is married. If you cannot seduce a single man, I doubt you can seduce one very much in love. You can, however be useful in other ways.”

 

“How will marrying me bring Neal back?” she said. She felt faint; he’d kept her foodless and sleepless purposefully, she realised. She couldn’t fight back in this state.

 

“Oh, my dear,” Gold said. “Do try and be less hopelessly naïve. It doesn’t suit you. Neal will come to rescue and when given a choice between his true love being married to his father and regular contact with me, we must hope he will choose the latter. Otherwise, I suppose it will be no great hardship marrying you.” He eyed her critically. “Though your appearance today is less than impressive, I have spent rather a lot of money on making you appear desirable.” He ran a hand down her cheek and she bit her tongue to stop herself from shuddering, tasting the sharp iron of blood.

 

“I’m sorry my looks do not meet with your exacting standards,” Emma said. Gold seemed to have an over-inflated sense of Neal’s loyalty to her. She couldn’t wait around for him to rescue her, but Gold would not let her get away. She’d be under close watch until Neal came or until… She gulped.

 

There was a commotion in the hallway and Gold stood irritably, limping towards the door to his office. Before he’d taken more than two paces, however, the door to his office burst open. Emma looked around and, heart swelling with hope, saw Regina framed in the doorway. She was all fury and fire, dressed in black and her lips a vibrant red.

 

“Gold,” she said and her voice was deep and angry. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but I will not allow you to force Miss Swan to marry you.” She didn’t meet Emma’s frightened gaze, but stared straight at Gold, eyes blazing.

 

Gold laughed. “Go back to your dresses and balls, dearie. You made that choice years ago.” He turned from her as though dismissing her and, in so doing, missed the dangerous expression crossing Regina’s face, her jaw clenching and tensing, her eyes narrowing. Still she did not look at Emma.

 

“I didn’t align myself with you,” Regina said; there was danger on the tip of her tongue and Emma couldn’t understand why Gold wasn’t shaking with terror. Emma was and Regina was on her side. She hoped. “But did you really think I contented myself with dresses and balls?”

 

“I suppose not,” Gold said slowly, really looking at her for the first time. “However, you seem to forget that I knew your mother remarkably well. I know secrets about you that would make high society’s hair stand on end. I know about your grandmother.”

 

Emma chanced a look at Regina and saw her flinch as though hit. But when she spoke again, her tone was measured. “Curses, foiled again.”

 

“What would Lady Midas say if she knew that Lady White was not so snow white after all?” Gold smiled, gold tooth glinting. He had won. Emma slouched down in the chair, wrapping her arms around herself.

 

“You mean my _dear friend, Lady Midas,_ who feels it is a pity that those who gain their fortunes in trade are allowed to enter society and refers to you as ‘that awful man, darling’?” Regina asked. “Go ahead and spread those rumours, dear. Find out just how much the ton distrusts you.”

 

Gold shook his head. “But that won’t be the last of it,” he said. “I haven’t seen dear Henry since he was a child.” Emma’s whole body went cold and her fingers clenched into a fist. Gold knew. He knew that Henry was the child she had given up at birth and he would use that against them.

 

If Emma had thought Regina was angry before, it was nothing to the way her eyes spat sparks and her lips curled into a snarl. “You will not even mention my son’s name.” And she whipped her pistol from beneath her coat, aiming it square at Gold’s chest. Her hand was quite steady and Emma had no doubt that Regina would kill him and she let out a shuddery gasp, hand clutching the arm of the chair.

 

“Let’s not be hasty, dearie,” Gold said, sitting down at his desk, hands raised.

 

“No, let’s,” Regina said. “No one threatens my son. Miss Swan, go and get your things. We are leaving.” She briefly turned her head to gesture Emma from the room and Gold seized his chance, standing and attempting to knock the pistol from Regina’s grasp. It slipped but she caught it, aimed and pulled the trigger, a bullet embedding in the middle of the article proclaiming Emma and Gold’s betrothal. “You say you knew my mother well. Did you also know my father?”

 

Gold nodded.

 

“Then you know he was the best shot in Derbyshire. You surely don’t think he didn’t teach me everything he knew? Make one more move and the next bullet will be in your knee cap. Attempt to get at me through my son and I will _destroy_ you. Emma, _go and get your things_.”

 

Emma left, hands shaking and legs like jelly. It took her several tries to open the door of Gold’s office. Despite the commotion, the hall outside Gold’s office was deserted. He was not a man who inspired loyalty. She ran up the stairs, pulling on boots and lacing them and grabbing the bag she had packed two nights ago. Feet in proper shoes, she felt steadier and sprinted back down to the study, stopped on the way by Belle. “You have to get out,” Emma hissed. “He’s a psychopath.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Belle said, voice quivering. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

 

“If you need to escape, I will help you,” she said. “But I have to go.” Belle clasped Emma’s arm for a moment, though said nothing.

 

Regina still had the pistol pointed at Gold. There was almost a nonchalance about her pose now, as though she were bored with the whole situation. “Go out to my carriage, Miss Swan. I shall meet you there.”

 

“Not without you,” Emma said and though her voice trembled, she hoped Regina would understand that she meant what she said.

 

“Go, dear,” Regina said, gentler. “I promise I will be right behind you.”

 

Emma was ashamed of what she did, but she fled out to the familiar carriage. When she clambered inside she found Alice, primly seated in the corner and could not help but throw her arms around the beleaguered maid and sob into her shoulder.

 

Alice rubbed circles on her back. “You’re safe, sweetheart. No one’s going to hurt you.” As Emma was starting to calm down, Regina climbed into the carriage.

 

“All taken care of,” she said as they set off. “Now, Alice, on our return home, see that Miss Swan gets a bath and a decent meal.”

 

Emma sniffed. “You saved me,” she said. “No one’s ever saved me before.” And she dissolved into tears again.

 

She was bustled into the house by Alice, leaving Regina behind, and upstairs to a private bathroom where she helped her out of the crumpled dress and into the hot water. She treated her like a small child, washing her hair and back and humming nonsense songs to her. When dressed in an unfamiliar shift and robe, she was given Welsh Rarebit, the cheese hot and bubbling, and a cup of tea, which soothed the pangs of her stomach. “Thank you,” Emma said when she had wolfed down her food and Alice had showed her to a bedroom.

 

“Thank Lady White,” Alice said. “It’s her orders I’m following.”

 

“I will,” Emma said. “But you don’t have to be kind to me. Reg-Lady White didn’t tell you to sing or wash my hair.”

 

“I suppose she didn’t,” Alice said, pulling back the blankets and helping Emma lie down. “You escape in the middle of the night again though, Emma Swan, and I will hunt you down myself.”

 

Emma smiled and curled up under warm blankets. “Won’t leave without saying goodbye again,” she promised sleepily.

 

She woke sometime in the middle of the night, heart racing and a scream on her lips, to find Regina standing in the doorway. For a moment she lay frozen, but Regina was there and she didn’t look like she was leaving any time soon. “Nightmare,” Emma murmured.

 

“Gold?” Regina asked. “He’ll not bother you again.”

 

“No,” Emma said. “But he might hurt you.”

 

Regina entered the room, sleek and graceful as a cat, and perched at the end of the bed. “I can take care of myself, dear,” she said and Emma wondered if she was imagining the hand stroking her leg above the blankets. “Better than you it would seem.”

 

Exhaustion overtook her again and before she drifted back to sleep, she murmured, “thank you.”

 

When she woke hours later, Regina was curled up against her, still fully dressed and one arm thrown protectively across Emma’s body. Emma’s mind was clear for the first time in days and she sat up, waking Regina as she did so. “Leaving without saying goodbye again, Miss Swan?” Regina’s tone was acerbic.

 

“No,” Emma said. “I’ll say goodbye this time.”

 

“Where will you go?”

 

“There’s boarding house that will have me until I find work outside of London,” Emma said. She had stayed there once and the landlady had taken a shine to her. “I can teach or work in a pub. Anything really. Perhaps I’ll become a governess.”

 

Regina sighed, hands fidgeting in her lap. “It’s for the best,” she said.

 

“How could anything ever work between us?” Emma asked. “We’re both, well, women.”

 

“Well spotted,” Regina said, rolling her eyes.

 

“I just, well, we’ll always have Derbyshire,” Emma said. “Thank you.”

 

Regina leaned forward and pressed her lips against Emma’s, soft and chaste and full of loss and longing. “If you ever need a saviour…” she said when they parted.

 

“And if Henry gets stuck down a well or something…” Emma said, grinning, though she felt like crying. All she wanted was to curl back up with Regina, wrapping her arms around her slim frame, but she had to leave now or she never would. And they could never be together forever. Someone would find out about her past. It would ruin Regina. It would destroy Henry.

 

So later that morning she said goodbye and she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments on the story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I struggle with action, so this was a good challenge.


	17. In which Regina gives up on the possibility of a happy ending for the evil step-mother

The ton was rocked with three scandals in the space of a week. The first, and most mundane, was the hasty marriage of Sir Killian Jones to a woman three years his senior with no fortune and little conversation. Though Rose Bell, or Lady Jones as she was now called, was pretty enough she was hardly a match for London’s most eligible bachelor. Still, some of the older women said, it was nice to see a young man so very much in love.

 

The second scandal was the dissolution of the engagement between Lady Mary Margaret Blanchard and the viscount and the hasty engagement of the self-same lady to the viscount’s twin brother. People buzzed about that for days but then the viscount gained a new mistress in an up and coming opera singer and many speculated that perhaps Lady Blanchard was better off with her new fiancé.

 

The third and most serious scandal was the rumour that Lady White’s Italian heritage was a falsehood; that she was, in fact, coloured. Lord Locksley was among Lady White’s supporters but _everyone_ knew that he was sympathetic to those people; his wife was from some foreign clime and if he weren’t so wealthy and such a pillar of society he would have been absolutely shunned the moment he married her. Lady Midas was also quick to stand up for her friend and, surprisingly, she made a great deal of sense. “One cannot trust the word of that social climbing schemer,” she had said when Lady Jersey had made noises about retracting Lady White’s ticket to Almack’s on account of the rumours. “Lady White deserves our trust and respect.”

 

Regina did nothing to dispel or confirm the rumours. She simply ignored them and, when asked, shot the speaker her most withering of withering looks until they apologised and walked hastily in the opposite direction. In truth, she found she didn’t much care what people thought. She wanted nothing more but to return to the country and spend her days with Henry and her horses and ignore fine society altogether.

 

The funny thing was that Gold thought he was hurting her, thought that the loss of an invitation or two was something Regina would cry about. Which proved he hadn’t listened to her at all. One part of his revenge was sufficiently irritating, however. If one more well-meaning member of the ton sidled up to her and confided that they had supported abolition she thought she might scream.

 

So far news of Miss Swan’s sudden disappearance from society had not made it to the general public, for which Regina was very grateful.

 

“Step-mama?” It was Mary Margaret, knocking at the door to the library, where Regina sat with a book in her lap and staring at the wall. She had called her to town to plan her wedding, which would take place in the next fortnight. The girl was blissfully, transcendently happy and Regina had to tamper down the anger and jealousy every time she saw her. “I believe it is time for my dress fitting.”

 

Once the wedding was over, Regina could leave town and it was all that was keeping her going. She pulled a bonnet on, knotting the bow at one side, creating a jaunty appearance that belied her actual feelings. Then, she got into the carriage and joined Mary Margaret at her modiste’s.

 

Mary Margaret babbled away as the modiste’s assistants pinned the dress, about how happy she was, about what ‘dearest David’ had said in his last letter, about how much she was looking forward to her bridal tour…

 

“I have a headache, dear,” Regina said finally. “Please cease with the chatter.”

 

Mary Margaret fell silent. She had been very careful not to upset or offend Regina under any circumstances. Then, tentatively, she spoke. “Do you know of Miss Swan’s address?” she asked. “It’s just, I called at Mr Gold’s home and his housekeeper said she no longer resided there? I should like to invite her to my wedding.”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Regina said and was humiliated to discover that tears pricked at her eyeballs. “I believe she and Mr Gold had a falling out.”

 

“I would have thought she would have told you where she was going,” Mary Margaret said, a frown marring her delicate features. “You seemed to be close friends.”

 

Regina shook her head. “You over-estimate Miss Swan’s importance to me.” The assistants stepped back at the modiste eyed her work critically. Regina looked at her step-daughter and felt the lump in her throat swell. “You look quite beautiful, dear,” she said. Mary Margaret burst into tears, sobbing prettily into a handkerchief proffered by an assistant. “Oh, do calm down,” Regina added, snapping. “You know you’re beautiful.”

 

“Yes,” Mary Margaret said, sniffing. “But you have never told me so before.”

 

“If you hug me,” Regina said, looking warily at Mary Margaret, “I will stab you with dressmaker’s pins.”

 

Mary Margaret had to be taken for tea after her fitting to calm her down (and Regina did her bit by being as rude and sarcastic as possible to her step-daughter). When she returned to the town house she found Henry, pawing through one of the massive atlases from the library on the floor of the nursery. “How are you, my little prince?”

 

“Mama,” Henry said, eyes large and grave. “Cook and some servants were talking about you aren’t from here. Can you show me where you’re from?”

 

Regina made a mental note to remind her cook that gossip was not to be spoken when her son was in attendance – or indeed at any other time. “I am from right here, sweetheart,” she said. “But my grandmother was not.” She searched through the atlas, finding the West Indies and realising she could not be much more specific than that. “She was from here,” she said, pointing to the area of islands labelled as the Spanish West Indies, finger landing randomly on San Juan.

 

“West Indies,” Henry read, slowly and carefully. “What’s it like?”

 

“I imagine it is very hot,” she said. Her grandmother had died when she was very young, leaving only the vaguest suggestions, and Lady Mills had not encouraged her daughter’s interest in anywhere beyond Europe. She had heard stories from people in trade though about the West Indies. Locksley had sailed there at one point. “My grandmother spoke Spanish – I believe.”

 

“I think we should go on a trip there,” Henry said, eyeing her solemnly.

 

“It is quite a long way away,” Regina replied.

 

“But we went all the way to Edinburgh once,” Henry said. “It can’t be further than that.”

 

Regina laughed. Henry’s unprejudiced acceptance of her background was a balm she didn’t realise she needed. “Perhaps one day, sweetheart,” she said. “We would have to go by boat though for many days.”

 

“We might meet a pirate!” he exclaimed and Regina wished, not for the first time, that his obsession with pirates would cease already, and kissed his forehead, changing the subject to his lessons that morning.

 

Regina, who had resisted the urge to wear black to the wedding, found herself uncomfortably on display in the front pew of the grand church two weeks later, dressed in pale blue muslin and watching a beautiful Mary Margaret marry David Nolan who scarcely looked less happy than his bride. “I will always find you,” Nolan said as part of his vows and Regina only resisted the urge to gag by ruffling her hand through Henry’s hair. He looked up at her, smiling.

 

“She looks pretty, Mama,” he whispered.

 

“She does indeed,” Regina murmured back and tried to ignore the tears welling in her eyes because she was not going to get sentimental about Mary Margaret of all people in her old age.

 

No expense was spared for the wedding breakfast, though Regina spent the entire time trying to avoid Spencer, and then Mary Margaret and her new husband departed on their bridal tour to the Lake District, where they would see Nolan’s aunt and spend some time getting to know one another. Nolan, instead of going into a regiment, had been granted a living in Halifax and they would move there forthwith. It sounded comfortable and Mary Margaret had burbled on about the house and the gardens and the _possibilities_ until Regina’s head had ached.

 

She and Henry were to return to Derbyshire. Regina wandered the halls of the townhouse, trying not to get in the way of servants packing. It felt empty, Henry out on an excursion to the park with his governess to get him out from under foot. He had a tendency to want to involve himself in the most mundane of tasks and ask a million questions while doing so. Eventually, she found her way to her room, where Alice was packing her trunks. Sitting at her vanity, she picked up a silk chemise. “It will be pleasant to be back in Derbyshire,” she said.

 

“I’m sure it will, m’lady,” Alice said, folding yet another dark dress into the open trunk.

 

“You will enjoy being closer to your family,” Regina said. “And it must be about time for you to take a holiday.”

 

“I am looking forward to seeing my sister,” Alice replied. “But I won’t leave you when you’re in this state.” She pushed a strand of ginger hair that had fallen loose from her tight bun back, fastening it with a pin.

 

“What state? I’m fine.”

 

Alice took Regina’s hands, untwisting the silk chemise from around. She hadn’t even realised that she had twisted it so tightly that the fabric had cut off the blood supply on one of her wrists and left her with red, angry marks on her skin. “Yes,” she said wryly. “You seem fine.”

 

“Was that sarcasm, Alice?” Regina asked, raising an eyebrow and rubbing her hand to get the feeling back into it.

 

“Never, m’lady,” Alice said, though she smiled and Regina felt her own lips turn up in response. “I just worry about you when you don’t have a purpose. Even if that purpose is to ruin Lady Blanchard’s life.”

 

“She’s Mrs Nolan now,” Regina said, latching on to the most insignificant statement. “I will still have Henry.”

 

“But no Miss Swan,” Alice said.

 

“No Miss Swan,” Regina repeated. She shrugged. “I survived before Miss Swan came into my life. I am sure I shall survive without her.” Even saying the words left a twinge in her heart.

 

“I’m sure you shall,” Alice said, though she did not look convinced. “Perhaps you could find a way to pass a message on to her?”

 

“And why would I do that?”

 

“No reason,” Alice said. “It’s just, you’re both running scared. One of you needs to reach out.”

 

Regina rolled her eyes. “It was just my luck to get the most outspoken lady’s maid in all of England.” She smiled more naturally though and began to wrap perfume bottles and jewellery in muslin to pack. The idea of sending a letter stayed with her, however, so late that night after hours of tossing and turning, she pulled on a dressing gown and made her way to a desk.

 

_Miss Swan,_

_Furious as I still am with you and idiotic as I believe you to be, I feel it is important that you know you will always have a home in Derbyshire should you wish it. Henry and I retire there in two days. I find myself lonely without evil to plan against my insipid step-daughter and I am willing to attempt the impossible and be happy if you will join me._

_Your Regina_

 

Once written, she sealed it with wax before she could change her mind and in the morning she gave it to Alice and asked her to track down Neal Gold. “And do stop smirking,” she added because Alice looked positively gleeful.

 

Alice was out for half the day but was smiling on her return. “I found Mr Gold,” she said. “He knows where Emma is staying and promised to get your letter to her as soon as he had a chance to see her.”

 

Regina’s stomach churned. It had been easy, when she hadn’t known where Emma was, to imagine the grand romance, where Emma would realise she couldn’t live without her and come running for Regina. But now. Now if she didn’t come, Regina would know for a fact that she didn’t care, or not enough anyway, and that thought sickened her.

 

Still, she made sure to thank Alice.

 

Henry spent most of the carriage ride to Derbyshire sleeping, his head on Regina’s lap. This left her with far too much time to her own thoughts. Traitorously, Emma haunted her mind and the knot of anxiety in her stomach tightened. She knew this feeling, like she was going to throw up and cry and laugh hysterically all at once. Love. Of course love would bring her nothing but heartbreak again. Everyone knew the evil step-mother didn’t get a happy ending.

 

As the carriage went over a bad patch of road, she jostled Henry and he lifted his head. “Nearly there, Mama?” he asked, voice mumbling with sleep.

 

“Not quite, darling,” she murmured. “Soon.”

 

She needed to be active. She needed to ride. As soon as they got to Derbyshire, she would change into breeches and take Elinor out. She changed immediately on arrival and practically ran down to the stables. Elinor was saddled quickly and then she rode until her thighs ached and her cheeks were wind-whipped and red. She cried while she rode, the tears blurring her sight, but she found it impossible to stop. On return to the stables, she rubbed Elinor down and then Rocinante.

 

She was exhausted and fell to sleep easily after a hot bath, for once not plagued with dreams of Emma – a blessed relief. She woke to Henry clambering into her bed in the early hours of the morning. “Mama,” he said, his face alarmingly close to hers. “We’re back in the country!”

 

“I know, sweet one,” she said, scrunching her eyes shut and yawning.

 

“We should go and play,” he said, his little fingers pushing her eyelids up.

 

“I need more sleep,” she said, grabbing his wrists and pushing them to his sides. “Come and curl up with me.”

 

“Okay,” Henry said, nuzzling his head under her arm. She wrapped her arm tighter around him, breathing in his scent. For a moment he was silent and Regina almost drifted off. “Mama,” he said. “When’s Emma coming home?”

 

Regina stilled for a moment. “Emma is at her home, I imagine,” she said, willing her voice to remain even.

 

“No,” Henry said, stubbornly. “Proper home, with us. I miss her.”

 

Regina sighed. “I miss her as well,” and she curled up with her son, whose legs kicked at her thighs as he wriggled to get comfortable, and fell back into a restless sleep.

 

Each day, she rifled through the mail anxiously but there was never anything from Emma. She spent as much of her day with Henry, organised the running of the estate and went for long rides through the fields surrounding her home and into the neighbouring estates.

 

And so life went on, much as it always had. Regina ridiculed herself for feeling lonely; she never had before. But then she had always relished her solitude because it meant that Leopold wasn’t there. Now, though, she missed Emma and her voluntary seclusion was less than appealing.

 

“How are you?” Alice asked, as she pinned Regina’s hair up.

 

“Fine,” she said. “You know, Alice, you don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“I choose to,” Alice said. “I remember you during your marriage. I don’t wish to see you brought so low again.”

 

Regina had tried to block the memories of her marriage, but Alice had borne the brunt of Regina’s frustration and despair. Too often, she had returned to her room and snapped at her because her hair didn’t lie the way she had wanted. Too often, Alice had seen her on the brink of tears after a ball or assembly. Too often, Alice had overstepped her boundaries as a maid and raged against Leopold’s behaviour. “I will never be brought as low as that,” she said, voice low and fierce.

 

“You miss Emma,” Alice said.

 

“Her? I hardly think of her at all,” Regina said, scoffing.

 

Alice laughed. “Oh my dear,” she said and placed a final hairpin. “All done. Enjoy your picnic.”

 

Regina clasped her maid’s hand for a moment, a silent thanks, and then collected Henry. Her horse was saddled and a servant stood by with food and a blanket to be loaded on to the horse, when Henry let out a screech of delight. “Emma!”

 

Regina whirled around, her whole body shaking. Emma stood in the doorway of the stables, hands twisting in front of herself and a nervous expression on her face. Her yellow curls were crumpled and she did not wear gloves. Henry ran towards her, arms outstretched, and Emma lifted him up, hugging him tight to her. A lump formed in Regina’s throat and she thought she might be sick. “Miss Swan,” she said, her voice unusually hoarse and shaky.

 

Emma’s mouth twisted into a tentative smile. “Lady White,” she said.

 

“You took your time,” she said.

 

“I wanted to be sure,” Emma said. Her arms trembled and she lowered Henry to the ground.

 

Regina spoke to the footman. “Could you please take Henry back to the house?” He nodded. “Darling, we will be along shortly. Ask cook for a treat.” Henry, reluctantly, followed the footman. Now alone, Regina turned back to Emma. “And are you?” she asked. “Sure?”

 

“Very,” Emma said, stepping forward, encroaching on Regina’s space. “I know I’m an idiot and it took me a long time to get here but I want a home and I want you. I love you.” She was so close Regina could feel her breath on her face. Emma’s hand twitched but stayed by its side and then she said, “are you sure?”

 

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life, my idiot girl,” Regina said and, hand clasping the back of Emma’s neck, she pulled her forward and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter. Hopefully this makes up for the last couple of more depressing chapters. 
> 
> I'm going internet free for a few days so the final chapter will be somewhere towards the end of the week.


	18. In which a happy ending is possible after all

Emma woke, as she had for the past eight months, curled up against Regina, her face buried in her dark curls, loose and wild. Well, Regina had gone to bed with a tidy braid but one thing had led to another and the ribbon had been pulled loose. Now it was all twisted on the pillow beside Regina’s head. Emma smiled and pressed a kiss to the skin at the base of her neck, and she grumbled and shifted but did not wake.

 

It had been eight months since the stables.

 

They had kissed, Emma’s heart pounding and her brain ceasing to function, just so glad to be in Regina’s arms once more. It was only the sound of footsteps that broke them apart. “Come,” Regina said, one hand still twisted in Emma’s now rather bedraggled hair. “The last thing we need is for the stable boy to catch us.” The boy in question rounded the corner and Regina snatched her hand away.

 

“Are you needing another horse saddled, m’lady?” he asked.

 

Regina shook her head. “I shan’t be riding today anymore.” She looped her arm with Emma’s and dragged her back to the house and Emma felt the press of Regina’s elbow hooked against her own and her heart raced. Henry sat on the steps waiting for them and he ran forward when they approached.

 

“Is Emma staying?” he asked. He looked as though he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure whether there was news worth celebrating, mouth twisted and eyes large and anxious.

 

Emma grinned, teeth showing, and Regina answered him. “Yes, darling, she is. For as long as she would like.”

 

Henry’s smile bloomed and he grabbed Emma’s hand and dragged her into the house. “C’mon, let’s have our picnic lunch on the library floor.” She looked back at Regina whose dark eyes were crinkled with smiling, and let herself be dragged along to the library.

 

Regina organised the footman to bring the picnic basket and a blanket into the library and they sat on it, Henry leaning against Regina, who stroked his hair, and staring at Emma, like he was trying to memorise her face. “Tell me everything that has happened since I last saw you,” Emma said, focusing on Henry, only on Henry, because if she spent too much time looking at Regina she thought she might forget their audience and kiss her.

 

“We went back into town and Mary Margaret got married to Mr Nolan. He’s a nice man. I liked him a lot,” Henry said.

 

“He is a very nice man,” Emma said, shooting Regina a sideways glance. Regina scowled.

 

At some point in the proceedings, Alice looked in on them. “Well, I’ll be taking my holidays tomorrow, m’lady,” she said after a moment’s observing the three of them and Regina’s smile was so radiant that Emma had to sneak her hand across and clasp Regina’s, just for a moment.

 

And now it was eight months down the track and Emma was trying to encourage Regina to wake up. “Busy day ahead,” she murmured into Regina’s ear. “Henry’s birthday. All those house guests arriving today. We won’t have time to ourselves at all.” She pressed a kiss behind Regina’s ear and another at the point where her neck met her hair line. Regina shivered.

 

“You’re entirely too focused on one thing, Emma,” she mumbled.

 

“I’m entirely too focused on you, Regina dear,” she said, hand snaking around to graze Regina’s collar bone, one finger trailing down from her collar to the neckline of her shift.

 

Regina made a grouchy, snorting sound and twisted to face Emma. “We really don’t have time for this,” she said, but her voice was husky and she smiled.

 

“We have all the time in the world,” Emma said, hands tracing patterns on Regina’s bare arms.

 

For a moment, Regina’s face was the picture of blissful happiness before it shifted to abject suspicion. “Emma Swan, did you change the clock in this room so you would have time to have your way with me this morning?”

 

“Might have done,” Emma said, shrugging. “Just by half an hour.”

 

Regina groaned, dragging a pillow over her head. “You kept me up last night with your damn kisses,” she groused. “You’re insatiable.”

 

“So I’ve been told before,” Emma said, grinning. “It would be a shame to waste my cunning plan though.”

 

There was a moment of silence where Emma worried that Regina had actually gone back to sleep but then the pillow was removed and Regina pulled the cotton shift off over her head. “Well, come on then, Miss Swan. You’re wasting your precious time here.” There was something about Regina calling her ‘Miss Swan’ that built that fire deep in her belly and she rushed to pull the sheets away from her, taking a moment to simply bask in the glory that was her naked form. No matter how familiar she became with it, she didn’t think she’d ever stop marvelling at Regina’s beauty.

 

“You,” she said, head dipping to press a kiss against Regina’s lips, “are so very,” and another kiss landed between her breasts, “very beautiful,” and she took a dark nipple in her mouth, tongue laving it, while her hand reached up to cup Regina’s other breast in her palm, rubbing the nipple and feeling it stiffen beneath her thumb.

 

Regina whimpered and twisted at this. A flush rose in her neck as Emma continued. “You told me once,” Emma said, fingers idly playing with one breast and her breath hot on Regina’s neck, “that you were an old widow of no import to anyone…”

 

“I was trying to make you uncomfortable,” Regina said, though she shifted, eyes downcast, and they’d talked about this before and Emma knew that on some level she believed it – her husband had made sure of that. Emma would never stop hating that man because Regina deserved to be supremely confident in her beauty and her importance in this world.

 

“You are important,” Emma said and her other hand shifted lower, fingers raking lightly up and down Regina’s thigh. “You’re important to Henry and you’re so important to me. If you want me to ever leave you, you’ll have to throw me out and even then I will build a willow cabin at your gates and halloo to the reverberate hills…”

 

“Oh, do stop misquoting Shakespeare and take care of this situation,” Regina snapped, gesturing at her body. Her legs were clenched together but she loosened when Emma’s hand squeezed between her thighs, just short of where Regina wanted it. Emma shifted down the bed until she was positioned between Regina’s legs, kissing lightly up the soft insides of her thighs.

 

Neither of them had particularly positive associations with intercourse, though Emma more than Regina, and very little idea of how two women might go about it beyond the awkward, if pleasurable, fumbling of their first time. Acquiring a device of some sort – Emma had heard of such things because when you live in boarding houses in the dodgier areas of London you come into contact with many a lady of the night – had swiftly been deemed ‘out of the question’ by Regina. “I cannot be reminded of _him_ when I am with you,” she had said.

 

“Oh, do get on with it, dear,” Regina said, attempting in vain to sound languid, her voice instead sounding peevish and cross.

 

Emma grinned up at her and then went in with her tongue. She loved the taste of Regina, sort of tart and sharp, much like the woman herself. When she kissed the hooded nub of nerves, Regina’s hand came up and her fingers clawed into Emma’s hair, pushing her closer, making Emma’s touch intensify. It hurt a little, but that was balanced by knowing that she was giving Regina pleasure. She kept working at her, alternating long licks and soft kisses and it didn’t take long before Regina’s back arched and she let out a light, breathy cry. Emma crawled back up Regina’s body, kissing as she went, loving the feel of Regina trembling under her lips.

 

“Oh dear,” Regina said after a moment, smirk now firmly in place. “Would you look at the time? I’m afraid we really must be up,” though she continued to lie there languidly.

 

“Evil,” Emma said, her own need intensifying now that Regina’s was sated.

 

“No,” Regina said, wrapping the sheet around herself. “I’m afraid Alice will be along any moment.” There was a knock at the bedroom door. “And speak of the devil… Come in, dear.”

 

Alice entered, eyes averted. “You don’t even pretend that you’re not together,” she said, shaking her head, exasperated.

 

“No,” Regina said cheerfully. “We don’t. But then you’re the only person allowed to enter my room.”

 

“Emma could sleep in her own bed on occasion,” Alice said. For the first months, Emma used to sneak back to the guest room in the early hours of the morning but waking up beside Regina was her favourite time and she wouldn’t miss it for anything. “You’re lucky you have me to take care of you two.” The _idiots_ was implied at the end of the sentence.

 

“Very lucky, indeed,” Emma said, rolling her eyes. “I think Lady White requires a bath,” she added, grinning over at Regina who remained blissfully indifferent.

 

“It has already been ordered,” Alice said. “I suspect it would be best that the pair of you don’t look quite so… _kissed_ when the footmen arrive with the hot water. Will you be wanting one, Miss Swan?”

 

“Miss Swan will not need a bath ordered,” Regina said, sliding out of bed and throwing on a dressing gown. Emma, who had been admiring the curve or Regina’s bottom, made a sound of protest because her hair had not been washed in a good while and, with the arousal she was experiencing, a hot bath seemed particularly necessary, when she added, “we shall share.”

 

“Now who’s insatiable?” Emma teased.

 

Alice looked vaguely sickened. “You’re both the worst. I think I might leave service.”

 

Emma laughed and left, sneaking back to her room because Alice was right and it really wouldn’t do for the footmen to see her in Regina’s room in a state of undress. She returned when the bath was filled, where a great deal of water was slopped over the sides and Emma wasn’t sure how clean she actually got though she certainly felt much more relaxed.

 

Henry was practically vibrating with excitement when they went down for breakfast. “Mama, Emma, I’m six today!” he said, as though the whole household hadn’t been counting down for the past month. Emma remembered six years ago, the tiny baby boy, red faced and with a head of thick dark hair, snatched from her arms after barely a few hours. It was hard to believe he was the round cheeked, stocky child in front of her. She would never stop being grateful to Regina for being the mother she couldn’t have been, for fighting fiercely for the child and protecting him and, most of all, loving him deeply. She looked at Regina, let her hand slide across the table and one finger stroke the back of her hand. Regina met her eye and smiled, mouthing, _I know_.

 

“The Nolans arrived late last night,” she said, withdrawing her hand from Emma’s and rifling through her correspondence. “They stayed at the inn but shall be with us shortly I would imagine. Mrs and Miss Lucas will be here on the next stagecoach at eleven, as will the Locksleys and their little boy in their own carriage. See that their rooms are prepared, Mrs Potts.”

 

“Very good, m’lady,” the housekeeper said. “It will be a tight squeeze though. Might Miss Swan’s room be used for the next few days since it appears she does not sleep in it?” She arched an eyebrow.

 

Emma felt a laugh bubbling up inside of her at the look of absolute horror on Regina’s face. Then, she sighed, closing her eyes as though preparing for a blow. “How long have you known?”

 

“Your secret is quite safe, dear,” Mrs Potts said. “There was a time, before Mr Potts, that I preferred the company of the fairer sex myself…” And this time Emma could not help the laugh that boiled over, bursting forth, at the idea of staid, elderly Mrs Potts indulging in scandalous Sapphic relations.

 

Henry looked between the three women. “What’s funny?” he demanded.

 

“Nothing,” Emma said. “I think I hear carriages. Shall we see who it is and leave your mama to her letters?”

 

The carriage turned out to be David and Mary Margaret. Married life was suiting Mary Margaret very well indeed, if the smile that seemed to be etched onto her face was any indication. David helped her from the carriage and Henry ran forward, wrapping his arms around her stomach. He had missed his sister over the past eight months; she had never been too busy to play with him and, as he had once solemnly informed Emma, “she knows all my secrets.”

 

“Oof,” Mary Margaret said, staggering back, Henry being a little more forceful than perhaps expected. When she prised his hands free from her waist, she knelt down to eye level with him. “Happy birthday, darling.”

 

“I’ve missed you,” Henry mumbled, kicking at the stones of the drive, suddenly shy.

 

“I’ve missed you too,” Mary Margaret said. “Perhaps you could come and stay with us in Halifax one day soon?” She stood and smiled at Emma before enveloping her in a hug.

 

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Something you’d like to tell me, Mrs Nolan?” because the woman’s stomach was quite a bit rounder than the last time Emma had seen her. Mary Margaret just smiled adoringly over at David, who had lifted Henry onto his shoulders and was being very patient with Henry, who was kicking at his sides and yelling, “Giddy up!”

 

“Henry, sweetheart, please stop abusing Mr Nolan,” Regina said from the front door. “How was your trip, dear?” she added, embracing Mary Margaret briefly.

 

“Bumpy,” Mary Margaret said, wincing, and quite unconsciously touching her rounded stomach again.

 

“I imagine that would be unpleasant in your condition,” she said, eyes scanning Mary Margaret’s form. “Congratulations are in order, I assume, not simply that David’s feeding you too well.” Mary Margaret’s smile was radiant. “Now, come in out of the cold,” she said, for it was late March and a chill was in the air.

 

Later, when all Henry’s guests had arrived, they were crowded into the library in front of the lit fire, having a picnic because Henry insisted on a picnic for his birthday. He also insisted everyone sit on the floor, though Mrs Lucas was excused due to her knees. “They’re very sore,” Henry had told Emma. “And she’s very old.” Emma had laughed and Regina had sighed.

 

“Just don’t let Mrs Lucas hear you say that, Henry,” she’d said. “I would quite like to keep you alive until you are at least seven.”

 

Ruby Lucas passed on the latest gossip to an attentive Mary Margaret. David and Locksley were talking, as were Lady Locksley and Regina. Roland Locksley, aged two and possibly the most adorable child Emma had ever encountered, followed Henry around like a shadow as Henry fought imaginary foes with the wooden sword David had given him for his birthday.

 

“Sit with me, girl,” Mrs Lucas said and Emma eased herself off the floor with a groan – probably she shouldn’t have eaten quite so much cake – and joined Mrs Lucas on the chaise. The woman rather intimidated her, with her fierce glare and tightly wound, steel grey bun and the rumours that she had once shot a man with a crossbow who had trespassed onto her property.

 

“Can I get you anything?” Emma asked.

 

Mrs Lucas just waved a hand impatiently and went back to her knitting. “You’re a handsome girl,” she said.

 

“Thank you?”

 

“Stating a fact. Now,” she fixed her terrifying gaze on Emma, who thought it might have pierced her actual soul. “You and Lady White?”

 

“I help her with Henry in exchange for a place to live,” Emma said, for that was the excuse they had come up with. Gold had ‘disowned’ her and she heard tell that he was still trying to ruin Sir Killian Jones. She had also heard that Lady Jones was made of sterner stuff than they could possibly have imagined and Jones had eschewed the gambling hells in favour of nights at home with his wife, making Gold’s task somewhat difficult.

 

Mrs Lucas’ laugh was more like a bark. “You do more than that.” She eyed her silently for a moment, lips in a thin line. “I have often thought it would do Regina good to fall hopelessly in love and I see that this is the truth.” Emma turned to look at Regina who had just touched her step-daughter on the knee, speaking softly to her and smiling. Mary Margaret seemed to glow at her words.

 

“Is this the part where you threaten me if I hurt her?” Emma guessed. She eyed the pointed knitting needles with some trepidation.

 

“I don’t threaten,” Mrs Lucas said, baring a set of sharp, white teeth in what she might have considered a smile. “I promise.”

 

“Eugenia,” Regina said from across the room, “do try not to terrify my friends.”

 

Mrs Lucas patted Emma’s shoulder. “You’re excused.”

 

Emma fled gratefully, taking a moment in the hall, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths. “Emma, are you all right?” Regina had slipped from the room, and stood before her, a hand on Emma’s shoulder.

 

“Fine,” Emma said, a tremble in her voice. “Do you get frightened sometimes?”

 

“You’re going to have to be more specific, darling.”

 

“What if you get sick of me? What if the ton find out about us? It seems like everyone knows.”

 

Regina clasped her hand. “Three people is hardly everyone, dear,” she said. “And we shall tackle the ton together if there is ever a need.” Her thumb stroked over the knuckles of Emma’s hand. “As for your first question.” She pressed a kiss to Emma’s hand. “Impossible.” So Emma kissed her, hand wrapped around Regina’s waist, fingers splayed across white, embroidered muslin.

 

“No wonder half the staff know about you two.” Alice’s voice carried down the corridor. Emma looked up to find her several paces away and shaking her head in amusement. “You have no discretion.”

 

“Oh, go away, Alice,” Regina said, waving her free hand carelessly, and, leaning forward, kissed a smile on to Emma’s lips. And perhaps there would be missteps along the way and perhaps Emma would falter or Regina would freeze her out or society would disapprove, but in that moment, Emma found that all her fears were erased and she simply sank into Regina’s body and smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to stop ever apologising for shameless fluff because you've all read enough of my stuff by now to know that that's what you can expect from a final chapter. I hope you enjoyed and thank you heaps for your support of this story. I have really enjoyed writing it.


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